Operation:  Romantically Challenged
by fmapreshwab
Summary: It's obvious that Shawn and Lassiter would be perfect together. Obvious to everyone except them. So the people who care about them the most must step up and make it happen, or suffer the irritating consequences. Shassie slash.
1. Prologue:  The Awkward Conversation

A/N: I do not own the characters, but I'm fairly proud of the plot, which is mine. Steve Franks and USA own Shawn, Gus, Lassiter, O'Hara, Henry, Vick, Santa Barbara, the Psych name, and, of course, the incomparable Buzz McNabb.

Set immediately after (and a little bit during) 3x11 (like I have to tell you that it's "Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing). So, there're spoilers for that. Rated for some language and some content.

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><p><strong>Prologue: The Awkward Conversation That Every Father Dreads<strong>

Henry Spencer has been around the block once or twice. Well, a few times, if you can believe it, and in his days he's seen some pretty shocking stuff. He's seen a man willing to kill for a comic book; he's seen a woman drown her children, insisting that it was the best thing for them; he's seen women under arrest for solicitation trying to pick up cops _in_ the police station (and he's seen more than one succeed); he's watched more kids OD on the cheap stuff than he can remember, and too many of them were familiar (but, then, that was just a part of the price of being a cop _and_ a father). In short, Henry had seen some things, and it wasn't often anymore that he was truly shocked.

When his son had shown up on his doorstep with the head detective of the Santa Barbara police department in tow, insisting that Henry had to keep an eye on him, he'd been more interested than surprised, especially after hearing what Lassiter had done (which, for the record, had surprised no one). And when Lassiter had turned out to be a complete, screw-loose dope when he didn't have criminals to chase, well, Henry didn't think anyone had been too surprised about _that_ one, either.

No, the real shock had come in the afternoon when Henry had found Lassiter asleep on Henry's couch. A depressed cop was nothing new, and with the way he'd blown through Henry's entire stockpile of canned goods and watched six straight hours of COPS, sleeping at odd hours had really been the only sign Lassiter had left to exhibit.

And when Henry found Lassiter in a certain…condition, well, he was a man after all, and these things happened. Morning wood aside, things were pretty much the way Henry had expected to find them. But when Lassiter had turned in his sleep, started moving against the couch, the name he muttered to himself in a voice Henry chose to characterize more as whisper than a whimper; now that one Henry had not seen coming.

"_Shawn,_" Lassiter moaned, shifting his hips in a way Henry had hoped to finish his life without ever having to see another man move.

Henry groaned. "Oh, hell."

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><p>Henry waited. He hated waiting, sitting on information like this, but he knew there were more important things to be thought of just at the moment; Lassiter's career was on the line, after all, and Shawn's credibility. He waited until the very second he heard that the case had cleared to call them. But call them he did. It took a lot of convincing, but finally he managed to secure a meeting.<p>

Henry sat now at his kitchen table on a beautiful Saturday morning, staring across at the only two people he suspected he could trust with the information he had been sitting on so uncomfortably for nearly two days. He decided there was nothing to be lost in being clear, and he got it out immediately. "What gets said in this house does not leave this house. The second you leave this house, this conversation never happened. When I say this is secret, I mean a "take it to your grave" secret. This is not a funny story we will share one day, this is not something you write home about. Under torture, you do not crack. On pain of death, you do not talk. This goes no further than my kitchen walls." Henry stopped, forcing a moment of prolonged eye contact with each in turn. "Now, what are we going to do about those two?"

Gus, for his part, was trying his best to look uncomfortable and uninterested, but Henry knew him better than that. He couldn't decide if the look meant that he and Shawn had yet to have this particular conversation, or if Shawn had made him swear not to tell Henry, but he did notice that Gus had found something absurdly interesting on his ceiling to stare at rather than look Henry in the eye. "What two?" Gus asked, trying to sound oblivious.

Henry rolled his eyes. "Gus, Shawn needs you on this one. Now man up and get serious. Shawn and Carlton are…they need to get it figured out, and it needs to happen before one of them gets himself shot."

Gus hedged, looking around the room again for something to focus on. But O'Hara, the eternal optimist that she was, was smiling. "Oh, thank god. I've been trying for three years to get those two in a room together, and nothing's worked. I, for one, would be glad for the help."

Henry grinned, glad to see someone was willing to cooperate, then shot a hard glare at Gus, who seemed inordinately interested in the doors to Henry's cabinets. "Okay, Detective O'Hara—."

She smiled, interrupting. "Given the nature of what we're doing here, I think it'd be okay for you to call me Juliet."

"Okay, Juliet, then step one is to cover ground on what you've already tried. Maybe there's something there we can build on. Right, Gus?"

"Man," Gus whined under his breath, his resolve visibly crumbling. "I promised myself I was gonna stay out of this one." He sighed, casting an annoyed glare at Henry. "Fine," he finally agreed, "But if it gets too weird, I'm out."

"Way to be a friend, Gus," Henry muttered sarcastically, turning back to Juliet. "So, detective, you have three years of intel over the rest of us. Let's hear what you've got."

Juliet began her report, and Henry grinned. With a framework of three years to work with, this might actually work. With a little dedication from O'Hara and some support from Gus (and of course all the brain power Henry himself could spare), Operation Romantically Challenged might actually have a shot in hell after all.

_Good_. If nothing else, Henry could definitely say that those two deserved each other.


	2. Chapter 1:  Subtlety is Lost on Men

A/N: I do not own the characters, but I'm fairly proud of the plot, which is mine. Steve Franks and USA own Shawn, Gus, Lassiter, O'Hara, Henry, Vick, Santa Barbara, the Psych name, and, of course, the incomparable Buzz McNabb.

Set immediately after (and a little bit during) 3x11 (like I have to tell you that it's "Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing). So, there're spoilers for that. Plus a little from 1x10 ("From the Earth to Starbucks", which is totally worth a second, third, fourth and ninth viewing. I draw the line at umpteenth), 1x11 (you know the quote I'm taking from "He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, He Loves Me, Oops…He's Dead") and 1x12 ("Cloudy…Chance of Murder". Hey, what do you want from me? It establishes some things) in this chapter. Rated for some language and some content.

In apology for how long this took, I present an extra long chapter.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Subtlety is Lost on Men<strong>

"So, Detective, you have three years of intel over the rest of us. Let's hear what you've got." Hearing Henry refer to it in such terms made this feel like an undercover operation, which sounded better than group interference in their closest friends' love lives, so Juliet was willing to go with it.

Juliet looked down at the tabletop for a moment, trying to remember everything she'd ever done to try to get Shawn and Carlton to finally _see_ each other. It had been a long and frustrating road, and more than once, she had begun to wonder if she was the only one who thought those two were just…perfect for each other. But now she had proof, actual evidence, that someone else thought so, too. Two someones, the two someones in the world who actually knew Shawn, knew him well, and they had brought her in on their attempt to get the two clueless investigators to quit screwing around and finally…well, screw around. Juliet snorted slightly as she realized just how much Shawn had been rubbing off on her lately.

But Henry and Gus (well, Henry for sure) were treating it like any other case, and Juliet had seen some examples of Henry's work around the station, heard him talked about in hushed whispers like some demented urban legend. Something told Juliet that Henry would not accept an incomplete report, especially not in matters regarding his son.

As she thought back, she heard Gus trying to fight Henry, and she smiled. "How do we even know that Shawn and Lassiter…." He trailed off, sort of wiggling his hands together, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the sentence had taken.

Henry looked incredulously at Gus and didn't speak for a moment. When he did, his tone sounded almost disappointed, as though he had really expected more from the other man. "Gus, how long have you known Shawn?"

Gus chuckled briefly under his breath, his eyes widening.

Apparently, that passed for an answer, because Henry went right back to talking. "Right. And when was the last time you saw him stick with something? Honestly, anything? I've watched that kid bounce from job to job since he was sixteen. I've seen him lose interest in people faster than most people lose interest in the business page. But this is different; it has been from the start. He's putting down roots again, and I've been trying to figure out why since he came back to Santa Barbara. Shawn had us here before, so it's not you, and it sure as hell isn't for me. No offense to you, Juliet, but I don't put you in the running on this one. He's been a little too obvious there, and the only thing about Shawn that's ever obvious are his lies."

Juliet held her hands up deferentially, eager to hear Henry continue. "Something's different this time, Gus, and it's taken me way too long to figure out what. He loves the work, sure, but I think he…I think Lassiter means more to him than the work, the puzzles, definitely more than the money. But I also know my son, and he's going to need some help if he's going to see it through."

They sat in silence a moment and Gus had clearly run out of arguments for the time being. Henry looked over at Juliet. "So what do we have to work with, Detective?"

Juliet sighed thoughtfully. "I guess it all started during the Valerie case."

Gus looked up, his face practically screaming his disbelief. "That thing at the planetarium?"

Henry looked between the pair in confusion. Juliet knew that Shawn sometimes brought his father in on cases, but this must have predated Henry's involvement in that aspect of his son's life.

Gus looked over at the older man, uncomfortable again. "It was during that weird Internet dating thing you went through a couple years ago."

_So scratch that theory, then._

Henry frowned. "Sylvia?"

Gus scratched the back of his head. "It was something-a. Look, I don't know, but, yeah, probably." Gus was looking down again. _It's really too easy to make him squirm_, Juliet thought with a quick grin.

But with Gus's comments about Henry's dating life, Juliet couldn't help the curious look she gave the older man. _Maybe, when this is over, I should try to set him up with that sweet older lady from down the street…Maggie Something._ She shook her head. _Right, focus._

Juliet looked over at Henry with a more serious expression, trying to fill him in on the background before getting to the important pieces. "Lassiter…was going through a rough time, in more ways than he would tell me about. I was still new to the department; he didn't really trust me yet. Shawn was still pretty new, too, but…he could see that Carlton needed a win. Shawn came to me, told me that he wanted to help with the case, but quietly, so Lassiter wouldn't know. He basically asked me to go behind Carlton's back." She grinned and thought about how nice it was to think of the case without having to get defensive about the psychic's involvement. "It was for Carlton's own good, so I said yes. It worked out in the end but…when he first asked…."

Juliet could feel her face drawing together with the feeling of the memory. It had been a while, and she had never tried to explain it to anyone. After a moment, the words just started to come. "It was while the chief was on her maternity leave, and we were in her office, just the two of us. Shawn told me he wanted to help Carlton, and, to this day, I don't think he's ever been more honest with me. There was this look in his eyes, this earnestness. Just the way he said it, I could tell there was something there. From then on, when Shawn was around, I would look at Carlton, and I could just see this extra little light in his eye, this funny little bounce in his step, a difference in the way he carried himself that I could never really pin down. And he started smiling. That was when I first started to wonder if they wouldn't be good for each other, if I couldn't help nudge them along a little."

Henry was smiling, which was something Juliet hadn't expected. When she told the story in her head, she always seemed to come off as manipulative and a little over-involved in her partner's life. Maybe even a little creepy. But she had Henry's approval, which was the closest thing to Shawn's endorsement she could hope to get. And as time had gone by, she liked to think that Carlton knew what she was up to, let it continue because he wanted it to work as badly as she did. _But that's probably just wishful thinking._

Henry raised an eyebrow. "What kind of nudges are we talking here?"

Juliet looked up at the older man again, smiling. "Well, at first, I wasn't really sure of anything, so I tried to start slowly. I'd find reasons to leave them alone together, hoping they'd figure it out on their own." Juliet felt a frown tug the corners of her mouth. "But that usually ended with Shawn against a wall." She paused, expectant, before she remembered that Shawn wasn't actually in the room. It was as though her mind expected him to show up just to take advantage of the set-up, and she somehow found it strange when he didn't.

"And not in the good way," Henry said, his tone obliging and his eyes rolled. "There, _I_ said it. Now can we get on with it?"

Juliet eyed Henry, wondering fleetingly (and not for the first time) if it was possible that Shawn's gift was hereditary. "When that didn't work, I tried something a little more…aggressive. I started convincing Shawn that it would be better if he went into interrogations with Carlton than if I did. Unfortunately, that's when _Carlton_ got aggressive…."

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><p>Juliet was sitting at her desk, feeling rather pleased with herself. Shawn and Lassiter were, at this very moment, working together to break a suspect. Soon, Lassiter would see how good Spencer was in action, Spencer would begin to see Lassiter's passion, and they would be together by the end of the day. She loved the feeling of a job well done, the feeling that she had helped two people find each other. She smiled down into her paperwork.<p>

"O'Hara!" She could practically hear Lassiter's face turning red.

_Wow. That lasted almost two whole minutes._ Juliet sat the file down on her desk and rose, sighing as she moved toward the stairs that led down to the interrogation rooms.

She had made it almost all the way down the hall when Lassiter pounced on her from the stairs. She didn't know how to feel about the creepy grin covering the bottom half of his face. _It's like he's so mad, he circled back around to smiling._ His eyes were wide, and his face, as she had suspected, was bright, beety red.

Lassiter approached her, putting a tight, uncomfortable hand on her shoulder. "We, you and I, O'Hara, are going to talk about two things." He held his fingers in front of her face as he spoke. "First, we are going to go over just what, exactly, in the _hell_ you were thinking when you sent Spencer into that interrogation room. And then, we are going to talk about how, due to Spencer's ineptitude and impropriety, if our perp gets a decent lawyer, he is going to walk on this!" Juliet hadn't thought it possible, but in the face of his shouting rage, she actually missed the manic smile.

Shawn jogged up the stairs behind them, throwing an arm around Lassiter's shoulders, which he readily shrugged off. "Oh, come on, Lassie! You know as well as I do that: a, this guy can't afford a lawyer and one will have to be appointed to him, and 2, it was totally the sister. She was jealous of her brother because their dad left him everything when he died last month." His tone suggested that this should be obvious.

Lassiter glared down at Shawn, but Juliet could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. She could see him putting the pieces together, and, yes, it made sense given what they knew about their victim. But Lassiter wouldn't be admitting that to Shawn anytime soon. "Spencer, I...I—." Lassiter grabbed Shawn by the back of his jacket, disappearing around the corner with the psychic in tow. Lassiter was just starting to yell again when there was a loud crash.

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><p>Gus looked up. "Was that the time Lassiter threw Shawn down those stairs?"<p>

Juliet snapped, pointing at the man. "Hey, he didn't throw anybody anywhere, Shawn tripped. And yes," she added, somewhat sheepishly.

Gus stared at her for a moment, mouth open, before he finally managed to speak. What he said surprised her, given his level of discomfort with the whole project. "So that's all you did? You put them in the same room together and just expected them to…." Gus trailed off again, his face crumpling in on itself.

Juliet sighed, annoyed but more at herself than Gus. "You're right. I should have known better than to expect anything from those two using any kind of subtle approach."

Henry sighed. "So that didn't work."

"No, and I laid off for a while after that. I thought…I thought maybe I was wrong, maybe I should just leave them alone. But Lassiter…he kept talking about Shawn, even during cases he wasn't working with us. I realized I was on the right track during the speed dating case."

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><p>Juliet sighed in frustration. "Do you have the Glinburg file?" It was the end of the month, and all the paperwork for their cases was due. The detectives had been busy, doing what Lassiter called "<em>real<em> police work", making them too busy for this, and now they were on their fourth straight day of nothing but filing and report writing, some of which was being done for weeks-old cases. Juliet didn't pause the motion of her fingers across her keyboard as she called out to Lassiter, but when she received no answer she broke eye-contact with her monitor. "Carlton?"

Lassiter was staring off into space, his hands slowing, but never stilling, on his keyboard. Following his gaze, Juliet's face flushed. Carlton wasn't staring off into space. He was staring at Shawn Spencer.

Shawn was standing with his back to the detectives' desks, talking to McNabb, something was stricken…or picking…chicken. Something about chicken. Buzz was nodding along with a look of confusion plastered across his face. So, nothing new there. Shawn was leaning against McNabb's desk, his hips jutting out at an odd angle. If Juliet hadn't known better, and she most certainly didn't, she might have thought that Carlton was staring at Shawn's ass.

Lassiter's head shook, and his eyes refocused, his head swinging around to Juliet's own desk. His face was red, and his eyes were searching as he stared hard at her. "You say something, O'Hara?"

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><p>Juliet grinned, remembering the look she'd seen out of the corner of her eye as she refocused on her own computer screen. "You remember when Shawn got us the tire pattern for the killer's car?" Gus nodded, but Henry turned and gave her a blank stare. "Shawn wrote a note to Lassiter on the bottom, something sweet about tires. Lassiter still has the note in his desk."<p>

As little sense as Juliet realized that made out loud, Henry just nodded as though he had expected something along those lines. Shawn really was one of a kind, Juliet thought, but Henry never seemed to be surprised. Henry nodded thoughtfully, eyes focused on nothing in particular. "We can use that," he said, seemingly to himself. He looked up at Juliet again, motioning for her to continue.

Juliet nodded. "Well, after I figured out subtlety wasn't getting me anywhere," she said, looking over at Gus, "I practically spelled it out for Shawn, hoping he'd do something about it."

"When was that?" Gus asked, his tone clearly disbelieving.

Juliet sighed. "Do you remember that case when you two pretended to be lawyers?"

Gus's face clouded over for a moment, and he was clearly preparing a retort involving California legal code, but it cleared and he looked almost triumphant. "Is that what you were talking about that morning when we were on the steps to the courthouse? That whole speech about learning things about Lassiter?"

"Yes! I had to keep it vague so nothing could be repeated to Carlton, but I figured Shawn's powers would help him get my gist." Something occurred to her then, and suddenly nothing about her meeting with Gus and Henry made sense. "Shouldn't Shawn already know that Carlton's…interested in him? I mean, put aside all the signs _I_ picked up on, he's a psychic; shouldn't he have caught a…vibe about this or something?"

Henry's face blanched and Gus started to stammer. "Well…uh…you see…the thing about Shawn's gift…."

Henry cut in, much to Gus's apparent relief. "Look, it's shocky at best on a good day, and none of us really understand how it works. But near as I can tell, when it hits close to home, the psychic radar goes offline. He can't figure out the important things in his own life using the…spirits, it just doesn't work that way." He said it with an air of finality that Juliet was hard-pressed to argue with. "And, hell, even if Shawn did know, he's never had the real thing before. He'd be trying to protect himself. I mean, it would probably help if Lassiter had ever shown any interest…."

Gus nodded emphatically, picking up the train of thought. "Or kindness, or professional courtesy, or anything other than hatred and loathing and violence."

Juliet frowned. "I…I think that _is_ how he shows interest."

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><p>Sorry for all of the direct references, but I couldn't bring myself to put the real scenes in. More to come, fun for all, et cetera. Hopefully regular updates on the horizon.<p> 


	3. Chapter 2:  The Past is Its Own Surprise

A/N: I do not own the characters, but I'm fairly proud of the plot, which is mine. Steve Franks and USA own Shawn, Gus, Lassiter, O'Hara, Henry, Vick, Santa Barbara, the Psych name, and, of course, the incomparable Buzz McNabb.

Set immediately after (and a little bit during) 3x11 (like I have to tell you that it's "Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing). So, there're spoilers for that, and a slight mention of 3x08 ("Gus Walks into a Bank") if you look closely. Rated for some language and some content.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: The Past is Its Own Surprise<strong>

Gus shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This whole day was becoming one weird, awkward mess. It had been bad enough when Henry had said that Shawn was…he…that they…with Lassie, but now he was sitting through Juliet's list of set-up techniques and wondering if it was ever going to end.

As Juliet's account of that god-awful bank robbery (full of tense looks Gus's direction) came to a close, Gus decided now was as good a time as he was going to get to make his objections known. "Guys, what the hell are we doing, here? This is a total invasion of privacy. You guys understand that, right? This is none of our business."

But, of course, Henry wasn't going to let that slide. He looked sharply up at Gus. "This is completely our business. Those two idiots are never going to get this figured out if we don't do something."

"Who says they need to get anything figured out? They seem fine with the way things are! Why do you have to step in and…try to mess with their lives? Shawn's an adult now, Mr. Spencer, and he can live his life on his own." Gus couldn't believe the words had come out of his mouth, but they were out there now. Shawn had never had the guts to tell his dad to stop messing with his life, but Gus could tell he wanted to sometimes. Maybe this day wasn't going to be all bad, after all.

Henry stared at Gus for a long moment, and Gus considered running. But Henry had locked all the doors before they'd started talking, and he'd be caught before he figured out the latch. Finally, Henry started to speak. "Gus, I care about Shawn and…Lassiter's not so bad, once you get used to him. Under normal circumstances, he's even a pretty good detective."

Gus shook his head, not seeing the connection. "Okay, I guess. So what?"

"_So_, earlier this week, Lassiter ran into an obvious trap because he thought Shawn wanted to see him. Drimmer almost took them both out, and then where would we be?" Henry paused for a moment, his eyes clouding over. Gus knew the feeling, and he didn't like to think about it anymore than Henry did. "If it weren't for Lassiter's ridiculous paranoia, they'd both be dead right now. And if we don't intervene, if we don't try to "mess with their lives", next time they could both wind up as bodies on a slab. I, for one, would like to see them both live a little longer."

Henry and Gus stared at each other for a long moment, each determined for the other to see things his way. Gus knew he didn't stand a chance in a Henry Spencer stare-off, and he was glad when Juliet broke in. "And we want them to be happy. Right?"

Henry grunted dismissively, turning his attention to the woman. "Yeah, sure. Now, where were we?"

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><p>Henry had a notepad out, jotting down all the things Juliet had done over the last nearly three years to set the two men up. Gus was only partially listening, trying to figure out what he would have to do to leave this room. He could agree to help, or he could jump out one of the windows. It bothered him just a little that, since partnering with Shawn at Psych, window jumping had somehow become a feasible course of action to his mind.<p>

Juliet was still talking, but Gus could tell from her tone that she was winding down. "At one point, I even took a sick day during a small case Shawn had already gotten himself assigned to so they would have to work together without me as a buffer. Gus wasn't around for some reason that Shawn was never too clear on, something about Irritable Bowel Syndrome, so it was just the two of them. It went well enough, and Lassiter wasn't even mad when I got back. He was actually…a little different. He hummed once."

Henry looked up, his face clearly communicating his surprise. But all he said was, "When was that?"

Juliet paused a moment, looking up at the ceiling as she tried to remember. "Last year, the Billum robbery."

_Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. _Gus's head was already spinning, and he was sure he'd heard her wrong. He had to have. "Wait, you didn't work the Billum case?"

"No. Shawn and Lassiter worked that case together. I don't think Carlton would have gotten the right man without Shawn's help, not that he'd ever say it out loud." Juliet grinned, shaking her head.

_Aw crap._ "Shawn's in love with Lassiter," Gus said, flailing his arms. There was no escape now, only cooperation in the madness. Gus could see a strange, triumphant gleam in Henry's eyes.

But Juliet just looked confused. "What makes you say that now?"

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><p>Gus sighed, falling into his chair in the Psych office. He'd had an awful day at the office, the <em>real<em> office, and his boss was starting to question his dedication to pharmaceutical sales. He was under the gun, and he knew it. It was time to stop messing around and start really selling. Which meant it was time to cut back on the time he spent with Shawn. But the Psych office was where he went when he needed a break. Gus wondered how it was that this place, the eye of the storm of insanity that had at some point become his life, had become his happy place.

Eyeing the empty chair across the room from him, Gus wondered where Shawn was. There had been a case that Shawn wanted earlier in the week, but when Gus had been called back to work, they had agreed that Shawn would lay low for a while. Gus didn't want to think of the kinds of things that could happen with Shawn roaming the police station alone. Just as Gus was starting to think that maybe calling Shawn would be a strong plan, the man himself walked through the front door.

Shawn walked into the Psych office with just a bit more than his usual swagger. But something else was going on, Gus knew. Shawn was humming. Gus knew this was odd for any number of reasons, primarily the fact that, with Gus too busy to act as his chauffer, Shawn was stuck riding the motorized traffic collision he was so attached to (not that it was any of Gus's business if Shawn wanted to die young; no, that was an argument for Henry). So Shawn hadn't been anywhere near a radio all day. Not that he spent much time humming when he _was_ around radios, or any time at all that Gus could remember, but it would make far more sense. Not that anything Shawn had ever done made much sense, but Gus still liked to hope.

Setting aside the weirdness of the moment, Gus waited for Shawn to settle into his seat before launching into the questions he wanted to ask. As soon as he saw the look in Shawn's eye, he was glad he had waited. Gus had known his whole life, and he had not, since his earliest memories, ever seen the man with such an unfocused look in his eye. "Shawn?" Shawn was staring at a wall, clearly somewhere else. Gus wondered how he'd been able to drive like this. "Shawn!"

Shawn snapped back to Earth with a start. "Gus!"

Gus glared at him slightly, remembering as the moment passed that he was annoyed with his friend. "Man, where have you been all day? I kept calling the office trying to talk to you."

Shawn eyed the wall again, looking off to Gus's left. "I wasn't at the office."

Gus continued to stare at Shawn. "I know, I just said that. Where were you, Shawn?" Something about Shawn's evasions was starting to get under Gus's skin, and he had that "I'm not going to like this, am I, Shawn?" feeling in the pit of his stomach. Man, he hated that feeling.

"I was…I was around." Shawn looked at Gus and smiled the goofiest smile Gus had ever seen him wear.

One name popped into Gus's head then, and everything started to make sense. _Juliet._ "You were at the police station, weren't you?"

"No," Shawn answered instantly, defensively. "Maybe. For a minute. And then a series of minutes that may or may not describe all day." Shawn shrugged. "I was bored and they were understaffed. They needed me."

Gus tried not to let himself feel hurt or disappointed, but Shawn knew him too well for that. "You took the case without me?"

Shawn grinned. "Come on, Gus, don't be a purple stuffed donkey with his tail nailed on. We were both out there today doing important work for the Psych name."

"I was out there selling drugs all day, Shawn!" Gus liked to think of himself as a cool, level-headed person. He never yelled. Unless he was with Shawn.

Shawn knew this, and always seemed to find it hilarious. He grinned like a bear with a fish. "Okay, first of all, keep your voice down if you don't want the neighbors to think we're drug dealers."

"We don't have neighbors, Shawn." This was a fact of which Gus knew Shawn was well-aware, but somehow he always seemed to conveniently "forget".

"And second of all, you were out there making sure you would still have a job, and steady income, and the ability to pay for this office, so you were totally working to the better of the Psych name. I was just doing all the fun stuff." Shawn leaned back in the chair, kicking his feet up on his desk.

Gus let himself stew for a moment, let himself hold on to his fleeting anger. He could not, under any circumstances, he knew, stay mad at Shawn for very long. He felt himself breaking as Shawn took out a notepad. "Okay," he said, finally accepting the inevitable. "What's the case?"

The case itself turned out to be an open and shut robbery of Billum Furniture that Gus knew without asking that Shawn was going to turn on its head. He also knew that somehow, Shawn would be right. But from the way Shawn's eyes lit up as he talked about the case, Gus also knew that something about it was different.

Gus grinned when he realized what was different. Shawn never talked about Juliet, but he could see it in his friend's eyes. _Shawn's in love with Juliet. And I bet he has no idea._

* * *

><p>"I just…I just know, okay?" Gus had thought he had finally figured something out first. So much for that. But Henry and Juliet were still waiting for an explanation. "Something was different about the Billum case, Shawn was different. Shawn was acting…it was the first time I figured out that Shawn was in love, and I thought…I thought it was you," Gus said, looking up from his feet to meet Juliet's eye. Henry snorted. "He never told me you were gone. But since you weren't there…."<p>

Gus shook his head, accepting the reality of the situation. Knowing that Henry and Juliet were right made things different. His best (_best_, he stressed to himself, _not only_) friend needed his help, and what kind of man would he be if he backed down from that? He sighed, not quite wanting to believe that they had somehow pulled him into their madness. "Okay, how are we going to fix this?"

* * *

><p>Yay, Gus is on board! Like it or not, he'll have an important role to play in…Operation: Romantically Challenged!<p> 


	4. Chapter 3:  A Plan Most Awesome

A/N: I do not own the characters, but I'm fairly proud of the plot, which is mine. Steve Franks and USA own Shawn, Gus, Lassiter, O'Hara, Henry, Vick, Santa Barbara, the Psych name, and, of course, the incomparable Buzz McNabb.

Set immediately after (and a little bit during) 3x11 (like I have to tell you that it's "Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing). So, there're spoilers for that. Rated for some language and some content.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: A Plan Most Awesome<strong>

**or**

**The Name of the Game is Operation**

Henry grinned. Gus was on board, and there was nothing that could stop them now that everyone was fully committed. Of course, he'd thought operations were unstoppable that crumbled to pieces with one bad turn, and anything related to Shawn was bound to have more than a few of those. _Especially when I get involved_, Henry thought bitterly. He shook his head. If this was going to work, and it had damned well better, he couldn't think like that.

Henry looked across the table to Gus and Juliet. Gus still looked uncomfortable, but it was fading fast, replaced by the sort of confidence Henry normally associated with Shawn. _About damned time that kid rubbed off on somebody in a way that doesn't involve charges._

Juliet was smiling, optimistic, happy. Henry wondered at her perseverance, her spirit. He knew some of the things she'd seen, had been involved, however tangentially, with some of her cases. When he had been that far along in his career, he'd only seen the worst in everyone around him, seen the horror people were capable of. Henry hoped for her sake that the optimism held out, that she never lost that look of determined cheer.

Between Gus's newfound resolve and Juliet's longsuffering hope, they had a real shot at cracking this thing. But they were going to need a plan. "Okay, I think we're ready to hammer this thing out."

Gus looked over at him, an eyebrow raised in a way that reminded him too much of Shawn. "Okay," he said, drawing the word out, "but my question still stands: how?"

Henry grinned. This was the part he knew, the part he'd been doing since before Gus had been born. The cop in him started to push its way to the forefront as he glanced over the notes he'd made, the known facts of the situation. "There is one key to a successful operation, Gus: know your target. Between the three of us, we know more about those two than any other people in the world. Put together. Officers under cover spend years trying to get to a position we're already in. The rest is cake."

Gus frowned, but Henry could see Juliet nodding. She'd probably gotten that speech, or one like it, a hundred times during her training, during cover work. But Gus wasn't a cop, Henry reminded himself. Gus demonstrated his lack of familiarity with procedure only a moment later. "And what exactly is the rest?"

Henry had given the speech in briefings for the rookies a thousand times over the years, and it felt good to be using it one last time, using it on something as satisfying as his son's happiness. Noting the smile Juliet shot him, full of recognition and indulgence, Henry focused on Gus as he spoke. "Every good operation has three phases, three things that you have to do to get your target to do what you want. First, you plant an idea in your target's head. You bring it up in conversation, you mention it in passing, you have to avoid making it look too obvious. You can't try too hard, or they'll see right through you. The better they know you, the more careful you have to be."

Gus nodded. "So, for this…."

"Operation," Henry supplied. "It's Operation Romantically Challenged."

Gus gave Henry a look that had long ago been labeled the "Gus look" by Shawn. Henry had to agree with his son, the look couldn't be described any other way. "Seriously?"

Henry nodded. "It meets all the requirements of a good operation name: it's succinct, descriptive, and we can use acronyms around the target to keep them off track." Henry grinned as Juliet once more nodded in support. He was pulling all of this straight out of his ass, but it was nice to know he had backing. He just caught the sly smile she shot him as Gus looked up to the ceiling. "Oh, and it's completely accurate, or we'd all be off having a pleasant Saturday morning right now. I'd be fishing, you'd be off watching cartoons with Shawn, Juliet would be…off…."

Juliet grimaced. "I'd be doing paperwork with Lassiter all day. He's at the station now."

Gus frowned. "He's spending his Saturday at the station? That's sad."

Juliet jumped in to defend him. "You would be too if you were stuck in that awful motel room."

Something wasn't right about that, somehow. "Wait, motel room? I thought Lassiter was back home," Henry said, turning back to Juliet.

"No," Juliet told him, shaking her head. "His house is a crime scene. He has to be cleared by the CSIs once the scene has been processed. They didn't finish yesterday, and they don't work weekends for anything other than emergencies, so he's stuck there until Monday, at least. And that place is so depressing."

Henry filed the information away for later use, then returned to the topic at hand. "Any way, they need our help, and the operation name should reflect that."

Gus nodded. "Okay, how about Operation I Can't Believe I Agreed to This. Ooh, or what about this one? Operation: How is this the Best Thing I Have to Do on a Saturday? Operation: I Need a Life? Operation: Pathetic? Operation: Beauty and the Beast."

"I actually don't mind that last one," Juliet said thoughtfully.

Henry looked over at Gus appraisingly. "Operation: Pathetic was the closest you came, but I have to throw that one out since I'm almost positive you were talking about us instead of them. Gus, it's Romantically Challenged."

Gus sighed, looking back down again. "Okay, so for Operation Romantically Challenged, which I'd like to point out is more than a little offensive to our friends, to work, I start off by talking Lassiter up around Shawn. Easy enough. Well, sort of."

Henry shook his head, trying not to get too frustrated. "No, Gus, that's way too obvious, especially for Shawn. You're going to have to get Shawn thinking about Lassiter without having to mention him."

Gus nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, yeah, I can do that."

Henry grinned, returning to his speech. "Next, you have to present a problem that leads your target to the course of action you've already planted with them. This one is tricky; you have to make it look like an accident, but it has to be urgent enough to inspire immediate action. And you can't be afraid to get your hands a little dirty if that's what it takes. Finally, and this is especially important in our case, you fight your target on the action you want him to take. At this point, what you've planned is going to be inevitable, but you have to resist it, try to convince your target that it's a terrible idea."

Henry knew Gus would find fault with him on the last point, and Gus didn't disappoint. "Wait, how does that work? I'm gonna put all this time into trying to get Shawn to do something, only to tell him it's a bad idea and I don't want him to do it?"

Shaking his head, Henry chuckled. "You can't let them think that it's too easy, or they start to see through you. You convince a drug dealer that his only chance is to move his stash, then offer to help him? He's going to blow your head off. Convince him he has to move, then tell him how dangerous it is? He'll dig in even deeper and run off half-cocked to get picked up by the detail you have waiting outside." He could see that Gus was still skeptical. "Besides, when was the last time Shawn let something drop because you told him it was stupid or dangerous? Trying to convince Shawn not to do something is like a guarantee that it's going to happen." Henry could see Gus coming around. _I knew I'd get him with that one. God knows Shawn's gotten me with it enough._ "Trust me, I used to do this all the time. There are a million little things you have to do to push someone toward what you want them to do, but in the end it's all about the three P's: the plant, the problem and the protest."

"Sounds like a messed up children's book," Gus muttered.

Juliet frowned. "Hey, say what you will, but the system works. I worked a number of undercover cases with vice back in Miami, and this stuff is text book. It works every time, guaranteed."

Gus looked over at Juliet with a look that made Henry distinctly uncomfortable. "You were with vice, Juliet?"

She had the grace to blush under his stare, and Henry considered throwing one of his coffee mugs at Gus. In the end, though, he really couldn't sacrifice one of his good mugs. "The Miami force is a little smaller, and there are some…specific jobs that only…certain officers are qualified for. Every female officer is required to put in at least six months with the vice squad during their first two years on the force, then another three before they're eligible to make detective."

Henry was worried that Gus was about to say something inappropriate, but instead he settled on something stupid. "I gotta know, Juliet. Is it really still the 80s in Miami? Does everybody still have their sleeves pushed all the way up?" Juliet rolled her eyes, turning her head away from Gus to hide the smile breaking its way out across her face. Gus scowled like he hadn't expected the reaction he was getting. "What? Shawn would kill me if he ever found out I passed up a set-up like that!"

Henry snorted in derision. This was going to be harder than he had thought. "I already told you, nothing leaves this room. Now, we need a plan." Henry had a thought and looked over at the clock on the microwave. The morning was passing quickly, and they were going to have to act fast if this was going to work. "Okay, listen up." A plan was just beginning to take shape in Henry's mind, and he grinned almost predatorily. _Maybe I'll go fishing today, after all._

* * *

><p>Henry is up to something, and I totally want to know what it is. If you want to know too, tune in next time for the exciting implementation of…Operation: Romantically Challenged!<p> 


	5. Chapter 4:  Phase One

A/N: I do not own the characters, but I'm fairly proud of the plot, which is mine. Steve Franks and USA own Shawn, Gus, Lassiter, O'Hara, Henry, Vick, Santa Barbara, the Psych name, and, of course, the incomparable Buzz McNabb.

Set immediately after (and a little bit during) 3x11 (like I have to tell you that it's "Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing). So, there're spoilers for that. Rated for some language and some content.

Oh, and yeah, updates every other day for this one.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Phase One-Surrounded by Spencer<strong>

Shawn stretched comfortably on the couch in front of the Psych office's large television. He felt a little like a cat as his back arched up off the couch, but he settled back into the cushions with an easy smile. The old cartoon network whose name Shawn couldn't be bothered to learn had just finished up an all-morning Thundercats marathon, and Shawn was contemplating a fun Saturday nap. The light filtering in from outside alerted him to the fact that afternoon was quickly approaching.

He was just settling in to kick the afternoon off the right way (the unconscious way), when his phone started playing the theme song to the Mentalist. Shawn sighed, rolling over to face the table and grab his phone. He wasn't overjoyed to be talking to Henry, but he owed the man.

Shawn answered the phone with an extremely eloquent groan. "Uuuuuugggghhhhhhhh."

Henry's gruff voice told Shawn he was in a hurry. His words confirmed it. "Shawn, I don't have time to do this with you right now."

"Wha—Dad, you called me." Shawn looked back down at the inviting couch and considered letting his dad talk _while_ he napped. It would be tough, but he thought he could pull it off if he gave it a shot.

"Yeah, and I'm in a hurry, so just leave Lassiter alone, alright?"

_Wait, what?_ "What?" Shawn considered just hanging up, but he could almost feel his dad on the verge of making some kind of sense.

Henry sighed that familiar frustrated sigh, probably stewing on the fact that Shawn should have been able to figure the situation out on his own by now. "He just called me and asked me to keep you busy today. He wants you as far away from the police station as possible so he can have one day to put this whole mess behind him. You've already almost gotten the guy killed once this week, Shawn. Leave the poor man be, okay? I gotta go."

Shawn was starting to get annoyed. "Hey, that wasn't my fault, and besides…. Wait. Why are you in such a hurry?"

Shawn could hear Henry rolling his eyes on the other side of the phone. "I'm taking that bass trip I told you about. I leave in 20 minutes."

"You said that was next month."

Henry was annoyed, but now it was directed at something other than Shawn, which was a nice change of pace. "Yeah. Neighbor's dog got in the house this morning, rolled all over all the furniture before I could get it out. Turns out the damned thing has mites, and you know how I feel about things living on my couch that don't also empty my cupboard." Henry's voice broadcast the smug grin Shawn knew he would wear after that particular shot. "I'm having the place fumigated, and I can't be here for the next three days. So I decided, why not now? What better time to go on a trip? I cleared it with Vick, and I'll be back on Wednesday. Stay away from the station."

It was Shawn's turn to roll his eyes. "Sure, Dad. Have fun."

"I mean it, Shawn," Henry shouted.

"Yeah, yeah, go catch some trout."

"Bass, Shawn."

"Whatever, Dad," Shawn muttered as he punched the "call end" button a little harder than necessary and settled back into the couch. He was just starting to settle back in when the front door slammed. "We're closed," Shawn yelled into the couch. "The spirits don't work before three on Saturdays!" Footsteps continued to approach from the front room. Somebody wasn't getting his message. "Go away!"

"Great business model, Shawn." The voice filtered down to him through the pillow over his ears and the fog around his mind, as he heard the scrape of someone picking up the remote from its place on the table.

Shawn didn't lift his head. "Hey, Gus." He didn't begin to shift from his position on the couch until he heard the theme song to COPS filling the room. Rolling blindly, Shawn grabbed his phone from the table and tried to answer the call. "Yeah, Lassie?" Silence. Looking into the screen of the phone, Shawn realized there was no call coming in. Which could only mean one thing. "Gus, are we watching COPS?"

"Yes, Shawn, yes we are." Gus was sitting in the chair next to the couch. His voice was close, but something seemed off about it, almost expectant.

Shawn rolled over on the couch, facing Gus. He had to look up to see his friend, which brought his eyes into just too much contact with the sun. _Ugh._ "Gus, _why_ are we watching COPS?"

Gus shrugged. "I want to see what all the fuss is about. Too many people we know are addicted to this show."

Shawn thought of his dad, thought of the lecture he'd given when Lassie was camped out at Henry's, the one about twenty-six episodes of COPS and an empty refrigerator. He smiled as he thought of the two men trying to cohabitate, something that should have worked out perfectly. _Too much cop for one house_, Shawn decided.

Then Shawn's thoughts turned to Lassie and the fate they had almost shared. He thought of the determined look on Lassie's face as he'd advanced on Drimmer, the smug grin he'd flashed as Drimmer was led away and Lassiter's good name was finally restored. And he thought for a moment of the sad, empty look that had tugged so hard at his heart strings as Lassie sat on the bench outside the office, accepting that his life was over. He wondered what Lassie was up to, right now, right this second. _Probably re-alphabetizing his refrigerator_, Shawn thought with a grin. He wished he knew what Lassie was really up to, even as he realized that probably wasn't something he should be thinking about with Gus sitting seven and a half inches from him. As he shook the thoughts away, Shawn caught a strange grin on Gus's face.

Returning his attention to Gus, Shawn didn't know which question to ask first: where Gus had been all morning, or why he was at the office now. He continued to stare at Gus for just a moment too long.

Gus asked the question without turning from the television. "What, Shawn?"

Shawn decided to focus on the present. "What're you doing at the office, buddy? It's Saturday."

Gus snorted. "And that's stopped you exactly when?" He turned to face Shawn. "The wiring in my building shorted out last night, Shawn. I have no power."

Shawn nodded. "So you came for the TV, fair enough. So what were you doing all morning? You missed the Cats." Shawn pouted in a way that only Gus was immune to.

Gus's eyes widened slightly, and Shawn grinned, knowing Gus well enough to spot the precursor to a lie from no less than 20 miles away. "I…had to go in to work early this morning. There was a shipping error, and they thought I had misplaced twenty bottles of Ambien. They almost called the cops."

Shawn grinned. "I'm sure they did, buddy. I'm sure they did. So what are you thinking for lunch?"

* * *

><p>Carlton Lassiter sat in his office chair, staring at his computer screen. Even if it weren't for the necessity, he thought he still would have come in today. He loved the station the most on the weekends, with the reduced on-duty staff of officers, almost none of the familiar faces of the week buzzing about. There was more peace to be had here than at that horrific motel, and Lassiter needed it.<p>

More than that, Lassiter needed today to…regain some sense of the normalcy of his life. It had been a terrible week, with only one bright spot to keep it from being a complete disaster. _Well, maybe two_, Lassiter thought with a grin.

Of course, O'Hara chose that moment to make her entrance. "Carlton," she said in that bright tone of hers, throwing in a little too much surprise, as though she wanted him to think she hadn't known he would be here.

"O'Hara," he acknowledged, willing his fingers to move again across the keyboard. He didn't even know what form he was filling out; he just didn't want anyone to notice him sitting motionless in his seat, staring into the middle distance.

The time passed silently, with only the tapping of keys and the distant, ever-present murmur of officers' voices to fill the empty air. If he focused, Lassiter could almost ignore the constant looks sent his way. She was watching him. Two years ago, he would have taken her apart for it, but now…she had grown on him, in much the fashion he had suspected she would. "I know what you're doing," he told her, stilling his hands and looking across the room to her desk.

He could only grin at the widened eyes and slightly dropped chin. The expression lasted only a moment before she covered with a cough. "I…um…."

Lassiter grinned again at her nervousness. "No need to deny it, O'Hara; it's who you are. I was kind of expecting it, actually."

O'Hara looked over at him in shock before once again schooling her features into their practiced mask. "Wow. You're…you're taking so much better than I…I mean…I don't know what I was expecting, but…."

Lassiter waited until her babbling had petered off, then fixed her with a stern look. "Just because I'm aware of it doesn't mean I'm okay with it. You don't have to look after me. I can take care of myself."

O'Hara's eyes widened again. "Look after you! Right, because you're here by yourself, on your weekend. And so am I." She paused for a moment, gathering herself. "Is it okay with you if I stay, though? I put off a lot of my work yesterday because I knew you'd be here, and I wanted to have something to do. While I kept an eye on you. To make sure you're okay. I mean, after everything that happened, I—."

"O'Hara," Lassiter interrupted, cutting off what sounded like the warm-up to a very long-winded, uncomfortably emotional speech. "We both have a lot of work to do."

She ducked her head, looking down at her desk. "I'm glad you're back," she said quietly.

Lassiter nodded in acceptance, turning his attention back to the screen in front of him. He'd said his peace, and now she knew that he was okay. That was all he'd really wanted. After another few minutes, he heard a frustrated sigh come from O'Hara's desk.

She sat, staring daggers at several loose sheets of paper. "Carlton, do you have any extra staples? My stapler's empty."

Lassiter looked again at his computer screen, rolled his eyes, then opened the upper left-hand drawer of his desk. As he reached for his box of staples, he saw a yellow sheet of paper torn from a legal notepad peeking out from the back of the drawer. He tossed the box to O'Hara without looking, then pulled the paper out.

TO LASSY,

ON THE ALPINE HIGHWAY OF LIFE…YOU ARE MY ALL-WEATHER TIRES.

H&K'S

-SHAWN

Lassiter was careful to be sure the page never cleared the line of his desk. He couldn't have O'Hara knowing he'd kept it, or she might start asking questions or, worse, jumping to certain conclusions he wasn't sure he was comfortable with. As he smoothed a wrinkle out of the page, he glanced up to see O'Hara struggling to load her stapler. She was smiling, though; she was always smiling.

Lassiter grinned down at the page, thinking of Spencer. For the first time, he could feel the glimmering of respect for the younger man starting to build. He thought of the steely gaze he had encountered when he had burst into his own home to find Shawn with a gun to his head. He remembered the look of trust Shawn had given him as he went for the gun in his kitchen, even as Drimmer's finger had tightened on the trigger. Lassiter remembered the look of open awe Shawn had shot him when he dropped Drimmer, coming to the rescue like the hero he had dreamed of being when he first enrolled in the police academy. Like the hero he felt he was every time Spencer looked at him.

After returning the note to its place in his desk, Lassiter tried to shake the thoughts away, but every time his eyes came to rest on a spot within the station, he was brought face-to-face with another memory of Spencer. From the chairs to the desks to the rooms to the floor to even other officers, there was no place safe from Spencer's influence, and Lassiter couldn't escape the memories. Or the grin spreading across his face.

Lassiter shook his head once more, focusing on his computer and trying not to remember the time Shawn had written "Property of Lassie" across the screen in magic marker. He sat in his office chair, trying hard not to think of the many times Spencer had found his way into the chair, whether it was occupied or not. He looked at the smooth wood of his new desk, trying not to think of just who, exactly, had broken the last one by flopping down on it one too many times. Shawn really had looked ridiculous, staring dazedly up from the floor.

Lassiter realized he had stopped working. He wondered idly how Spencer spent his Saturdays. Clearly he wasn't working, wasn't here bothering the professionals. He and Guster were probably off somewhere…buying tacos and cremesicles. He shook his head, trying to focus on his paperwork. And if he tried, if he really focused, he could ignore the sly grin on O'Hara's face.

* * *

><p>Now all I can think of is how it would taste if you melted a cremesicle on top of a taco. Anyway, Phase One seems to be going well, but tune in next time for the tricky part: Phase Two!<p> 


	6. Chapter 5:  Phase Two

A/N: I do not own the characters, but I'm fairly proud of the plot, which is mine. Steve Franks and USA own Shawn, Gus, Lassiter, O'Hara, Henry, Vick, Santa Barbara, the Psych name, and, of course, the incomparable Buzz McNabb. I did create Mr. DiNori (I think I was going for Italian, to be read accordingly).

Set immediately after (and a little bit during) 3x11 (like I have to tell you that it's "Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing). So, there're spoilers for that. Rated for some language and some content.

Quick thanks to just…just everybody. Readers, reviewers, favoriters, alerters, everybody. I love you guys, and you are the ones making this story as great as it could be. Just…thanks, guys and gals.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: Phase Two-Santa Barbara, We Have a Problem<strong>

Carlton Lassiter sat contentedly at his desk, staring at the words scrolling across his computer screen. There was finally a silence stretching between himself and O'Hara, one in which he was all too glad to participate. He knew it wouldn't, couldn't last forever, but it had been nearly five whole minutes since O'Hara had tried to interfere in or, to her mind he was sure, _fix_ his life. He stifled a groan as she began to speak once more.

O'Hara sighed, sounding like nothing more than a teapot releasing pressure and throwing her hands up in the air. "I mean, I guess, I just…I worry about you, Carlton. You're all on your own in that big, empty motel room."

Carlton thought for a moment about pointing out that the motel room was no bigger or more empty than his own home (was, in fact, less so on both counts), but he shook his head. He couldn't stand the look of pity and condescension she would give him. In his mind, as she looked at him, it was Victoria's face pitying him, and he shook his head again.

O'Hara, apparently, was not done. "And it has to really suck knowing that your own bed is just down the street."

Lassiter thought of telling her that if they were ever called to any situation involving a jumper, he would be leaving her at the station, but thought better of it. _Too mean_, he thought, grinning all the same.

Lassiter thought he heard the sound of the station door opening, but he couldn't be sure. What he _could_ be sure of, however, was the change in O'Hara's demeanor. Where earlier she had worn the tired look of worry and attempted commiseration, now she was grinning. She wouldn't look up to meet Lassiter's eyes, which was cause for suspicion in and of itself. She had a glint in her eye that, had Lassiter not known better, he might have called predatory. This combined to make her look like nothing more than the cat that had eaten the canary, and Lassiter shuddered at the thought of what she might be up to.

All she said, however, was, "Do you have the Cosgrove file?"

He didn't, but he needed it. And any other excuse to leave the room for a moment, until whatever it was O'Hara was so…excited about had passed. He stood up without a word and meandered down the hall to the Records room, taking his sweet time about it.

* * *

><p>Shawn Spencer snuck stealthily into the Santa Barbara police station, just the way Henry had taught him. Shawn could hear his father's voice in his head. <em>Weight on the balls of your feet, Shawn. Don't let your heels slap the floor, Shawn. They shouldn't be able to hear you coming, Shawn. Breathe through your nose, Shawn.<em> Shawn was rolling his eyes, even as he used Henry's lessons.

After stopping for burritos and fudgesicles, it had been weirdly easy to talk Gus into taking him to the station. Usually Gus was easier to…influence after fudgesicles (something borderline creepy about how the darker the treat, the better to eat), but Shawn had expected at least some token struggle. But he hadn't even had to break out "Gus, don't be the one smashed Cheeto that creates all the dust". If Shawn hadn't known better, and he was beginning to wonder if he did, he would have though Gus _wanted_ him to go to the station today.

Shrugging to himself, Shawn peered around the corner. He just caught sight of Lassie as he disappeared into the Records room, and there was Jules, sitting at her desk. Without looking up, she spoke. "Hi, Shawn."

Shawn groaned. "Hey, Jules."

"Gee," Juliet said, her pen moving across the paper in front of her. "Nice to see you, too."

Shawn rolled his eyes, knowing all too well that Juliet couldn't actually see him from her place at her desk. "You know I'm always happy to see you, Jules. You just weren't supposed to see me."

Juliet smiled briefly up at him. "Hard to be stealthy on a Saturday, Shawn. I could hear you coming in from here."

Shawn strolled into the bullpen, finding a comfortable seat in Lassiter's office chair. He spun for a while before Juliet spoke again.

Shawn could hear the smile in her voice without looking over at her desk. "Hey, Shawn? My stapler's empty. Carlton keeps an extra box of staples in his desk; could you grab some for me? They're in the top drawer."

Shawn looked down. "Left, right or center?"

Juliet continued to stare down at her desk. "I don't know. Check all of them."

In the top right hand drawer of Lassie's desk, Shawn found stacks of Post-It Notes, two pairs of scissors, and just so, _so_ many identical pens. The center drawer held paper clips, stacks of blank paper, and a small ball of rubber bands. The left-hand drawer held several rolls of tape, a ruler _and_ a measuring tape, some binder clips, and, toward the back of the drawer, three boxes of staples. _Well, if an earthquake ever hits Santa Barbara, it's good to know that Lassie's all set on office supplies._ As he pulled out the back box of staples, Shawn saw a seemingly out-of-place yellow sheet of paper and pulled it out with the box.

Shawn tossed the box of staples across the room to Jules's desk, then unfolded the sheet of paper. Shawn grinned as he read the note, written in his own hand. _I can't believe he kept this._ Shawn continued to grin as he replaced the paper in the drawer and launched himself out of the chair and across the bullpen just as Lassie walked out of the Records room.

Lassie didn't look up as he passed Shawn, staring instead down at the files in his hand. As the older man took his seat, Shawn grinned and walked to the space directly behind Lassie's desk, wondering how long it would take for the detective to realize he was in the room. As it happened, not that long.

"Man," Gus said, walking through the front door. "How is there no parking here on a Saturday? I had to drive all the way down to the coffee shop on the corner!" Gus came to a stop near Juliet's desk, pouting with his arms crossed and leaning against the wall.

"Guster?" Lassiter said, looking up. As his head swung up, it collided with Shawn, standing hunched over Lassie's chair. He reeled around, coming face-to-hip with Shawn. "Spencer!" The growl was made even more adorable than usual by what Shawn had discovered in Lassie's desk.

"Lassie." Shawn smiled down at Lassiter, but before the detective could say anything further, Shawn's phone started playing a strange, upbeat polka-esque tune. Shawn dug his phone out from his pocket.

Shawn smiled in puzzlement at the caller ID, not that the polka had left any doubts. "He-hey, Mr. DiNori, what's going on?"

Shawn's portly landlord's voice boomed from the other end of the line. "Shawn, my boy! I have some news." His tone was bright, and Shawn could imagine him smiling, the way he always did, but something seemed off.

"Good news?" Shawn asked doubtfully.

DiNori continued in his bright tone. "Uh…the other kind of news. The not so good kind."

"Not good? So…bad news, then." Shawn paused, trying to steel himself for what would come next. Even knowing that something terrible was coming, Shawn couldn't help grinning at the concerned look on Lassie's face. He sighed. "So what's the news?"

DiNori hesitated, and Shawn knew this was something serious. "Uh…Shawn, my boy, this is…maybe you should sit down for this."

Shawn sat without thinking, right into the warmth of Lassiter's lap. He felt a half-hearted shove against the back of his hip, but Shawn didn't let it interfere with his conversation. "What's going on, Mr. DiNori?"

"Shawn…there is been a leak."

_Oh, crap._ "What, like, a gas leak? Is everybody okay?" Shawn could feel his tone taking on panic, fear. He thought of the couple across the hall, their little girl (well, _her_ little girl, but the husband thought she was his daughter, and that was just as good). He thought of the group of "out on our own for the first time" college kids that shared the room down the hall (two of which Shawn had told Gus he was _finally_ coming down to the station today to report for their almost definite drug dealings, or at least he would have if Gus had bothered to ask why they were going to the police department instead of just driving there in as direct a route as possible). Shawn thought of the closeted lesbian couple next door and the adoption pamphlets he'd found that time he "accidentally" broke into their lobby mail slot, and the older lady across the hall from them that Shawn was positive had once been a great cat burglar (because no innocent person looks _that much_ like Julie Newmar). So many lives, so much hope, and the idea that they could have been taken away by something that couldn't be seen or fought or arrested made Shawn's stomach clench, an act he was almost positive Lassie was aware of, judging by the warm, comforting hand on his arm.

But DiNori laughed on the other end of the line. Shawn could hear something under the laugh, an edge of nervousness, but also something behind it. Something that sounded unnervingly like running water. "No, no, my boy. There is no gas! There is water, so much water."

Shawn groaned. That explained the sound. "Mr. DiNori, what are you saying?"

"There was a leak on the fourth floor, Shawn, my boy. The pipes, they burst." Even though Shawn was miles away, he could see DiNori making the hand gesture that no one was in the room to see.

Shawn tried, tried so hard, to cling to hope. "But…I live on the third floor, Mr. DiNori."

And, of course, Mr. DiNori had to crush that hope. "Yes, and the water, it flows down. It will be _many_ days before you are able to come home, Shawn, my boy. Many days until the plumbers can fix the leaks, and many more days before the apartments are dry once more. You…you must stay away for…."

"Yeah, many days, I got it, Mr. DiNori. Thanks for, um…thanks for letting me know."

"I will call you the moment the dry has returned. I have seen your room. The walls and the ceiling and the floor are watery, but no things are ruined, I think. Will be good as new. After many days."

"Thanks, Mr. DiNori." Shawn ended the call and leaned back. Lassie made a grunt of protest, but his hand remained on Shawn's shoulder and he had made no move to unseat the young man.

After a moment of staring down at his phone and letting his mind try to come up with answers for him, Shawn looked up at the two people standing in front of him. He couldn't see Lassie sitting behind him, but he knew the detective was waiting just as anxiously as the others. "The pipes burst at my apartment building. I'm homeless for the next few days."

Shawn watched as Gus's eyes widen in a panic and his phone materialized out of nowhere in his hand. Shawn hadn't heard the phone ring, but the moment it was to his ear, Gus began to mutter into the receiver like a madman, which meant either he had received the call, or he had called someone who anally and obsessively answered calls on the first ring. Between the distance and the fact that Gus now had his back turned, Shawn had difficulty making out the conversation. Occasionally, he would catch louder phrases, like "That's crazy" and "I can't believe you!"

Shawn was just starting to think that he knew what it was like to watch one of his own conversations with Gus from the outside when he caught sight of Jules's expression. Horrified seemed to be the only word to describe it. He wondered if she could hear the other half of the conversation Gus was having, as she was standing so much closer. He shot her a few questioning looks, but her attention was riveted on Gus.

Shawn would have thought that something was going on, some insane sort of conspiracy, but a quick check behind him confirmed that Lassie looked as confused as he was. He noted with some satisfaction that Lassie seemed to have forgotten that Shawn was in his lap. Shawn was about to start asking questions when Gus turned back, glaring at the floor and muttering "Hands dirty my ass" darkly. Gus looked up and seemed to realize for the first time that everyone was watching him.

"Um…," he started, panic once more filling his face. "That was…work." Jules and Gus shared a deep, nervous look, and Shawn was no longer certain he wanted to know exactly why Mr. DiNori had sounded so nervous when he talked about the pipes. "I…uh…I gotta go."

"More shipping errors?" Shawn asked with a certain, from the look on Gus's face _unappreciated_, quirk to his voice.

"It's not funny, Shawn! My boss thinks I'm a drug dealer! I keep weird hours because of _you_, I'm always distracted and exhausted because of _you_, and, I'm not sure how yet, but I'm pretty sure this whole "missing pills" thing is going to come back to you, too!"

Shawn put a hand over his heart and gasped. "Buddy, I'm hurt! The worst thing I ever did to your second job is that time I haunted your boss a couple months ago."

"Shawn," Gus started, sighing and grabbing his temples, "Psych is my second job. Pharmaceutical sales is my career."

Shawn shrugged. "I've heard it both ways. Gus, you don't have time to do this with me right now. Get down there and convince them you have no idea of the street value of Ambien. Go, right now." Shawn made little shooing gestures and hustled Gus out of the room, all without standing.

Gus, who had been flustered and strained since hearing of Shawn's predicament, called, "Call me later," over his shoulder, which left Shawn alone with the detectives.

As usual, Jules was the first to break the silence. "So, Shawn," she said, trying too hard to sound chipper, "what are you going to do about your apartment? Where are you going to stay until the trouble's over?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Lassie said, as he pushed Shawn up while simultaneously sliding the chair back, leaving Shawn sitting on air and, shortly after that, the floor. "He'll stay with Guster until the leak has been dealt with."

Shawn, more to annoy Lassiter than anything else, used the detective's leg as a handhold to right himself. "Actually, Gus's place has no power. Come to think of it, I don't even know where he's staying…. And I'd feel awful about charging _another_ hotel room to his card."

Lassie sighed, glaring slightly. "Spencer, that's credit card fraud."

"Not if I have Gus's consent," Shawn stated matter-of-factly.

Lassie's eyes narrowed, and Shawn just knew he wasn't going to let it go. "Do you have his consent?"

"A, I don't see how that's relevant, and B, I plead the third." _Yeah, that sounds right._

Lassie sighed, telling Shawn that it was, in fact, not right at all. "You…plead your right not to have your property seized by soldiers in times of war?"

"Every day, Lassie," Shawn told him, patting the tall man on the shoulder, a level usually inaccessible when the man stood.

Jules sighed, attracting Shawn's attention once more. "So what will you do? About your living situation?"

Shawn's blank stare evaporated as he remembered what the original conversation had been about. He shrugged, crossing the bullpen to lean against the wall Gus had recently vacated. "I guess I'll just stay at the office. I mean, sure, it's a little depressing, and there's no bed, but I've made that couch my bed enough times to deal. Who knows? Maybe a few nights at the office'll bring out a little of Road Shawn." Shawn paused, waiting.

"Road Shawn?" Jules asked politely after a moment.

Shawn grinned triumphantly. "I'm so glad you asked! Road Shawn is the guy I am outside of Santa Barbara. He's carefree, irresponsible, wild, reckless, and so much fun!"

Lassie snorted from the corner of the room. "You're all those things."

Shawn felt his eyes widen, marking the score at the sound of Lassie unwittingly admitting that Shawn was fun. "Road Shawn is more!" Shawn snapped, returning his attention to Jules. "Ooh, better idea! I could totally hook! Jules, you've got that pretty girl handwriting; make me a cardboard sign that reads "Will sex you up for room and board"."

Jules looked at him for a moment, shaking her head. "No, Shawn, no for many, many reasons."

Shawn thrust out his lower lip, pouting as adorably as he knew how. "Oh, come ooooooooooooon. It's not like it would make you an accessory to anything..."

Jules was glaring, and just starting to reply, when Lassie piped up from his nearly-forgotten corner of the room. "Or," he started quietly, "you could just stay with me."

Shawn thought about it for a minute. As great as an invite to Lassie's place was (very great, for anyone still wondering, the greatest ever), he didn't see Lassie's house _not_ giving him the Level 10 heebiest of jeebies for quite some time. He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep there, not that sleep was all a house was good for.

Seeming to read Shawn's less graphic thoughts, Lassie continued. "I'm at a motel at least until Tuesday, and there's already an extra bed."

If Shawn hadn't been looking for it, he might have missed the brief, sly grin that shot across Lassie's face.

* * *

><p>Yeah…I just had a ton of fun with this one (seriously, I hope it was half as fun to read as it was to write), and, as a result, it came out a little long. Consider it a continuation of the thank you mentioned earlier.<p>

To find the answer to all your burning questions, stick around! Phase Three should be a fun time!

Also, I don't know if that fudgesicle line was from something, or if I made it up, but I find it more than a little disturbing and it strikes me as the sort of thing Gus would say when hitting on some poor girl (seriously, dude gets creepy when he's trying to have game).

Oh, and if you're wondering, the score stands at 817 to 3. Shawn feels bad enough to throw Lassie a bone about once a year.


	7. Chapter 6:  Phase Three

A/N: I do not own the characters, but I'm fairly proud of the plot, which is mine. Steve Franks and USA own Shawn, Gus, Lassiter, O'Hara, Henry, Vick, Santa Barbara, the Psych name, and, of course, the incomparable Buzz McNabb.

Set immediately after (and a little bit during) 3x11 (like I have to tell you that it's "Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing). So, there're spoilers for that. Rated for some language and some content.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Phase Three-A Civil and Orderly Protest (Yeah, Right)<strong>

"Sleepover!" Spencer shouted, jumping around and repeatedly punching the air near O'Hara's head. "Yes! That is the _best_ idea! You, me, we pop some popcorn, order some room service cocoa, have a good, old fashioned Van Damme-fest; it'll be great. Better than great, it'll be _awesome_!"

Lassiter nodded absently, focusing once more on the files in front of him. "Yes, all of that, except the popcorn, the cocoa and the Van Damme."

Spencer's shoulders slumped. "But that just leaves you and me. Oh well," he said, staring over at Lassiter, and the detective could just feel the heat behind the gaze, "I'm sure I can think of…something for us to do."

"Uh-huh," Lassiter said, trying to sound distracted as he stared intently down at his files without really seeing them. He was trying just a little too hard not to look up at Spencer, and he knew if he didn't do or say…_something_, it would start to look suspicious very, very soon. But his mind was blank, and he could not, for the life of him, think of what a normal reaction to Spencer's antics would be. A glare seemed too little, reaching for his weapon was definitely too much.

But then O'Hara solved his problem for him. "Carlton," she started. Her tone was almost hysterical, but there was something about it that Lassiter didn't trust. "Can I talk to you…for a minute…alone?" He looked up just in time to see O'Hara shooting a very un-subtle look in Spencer's direction.

Lassiter nodded curtly to O'Hara, then turned his gaze to Spencer, trying to keep his face (and just his face) firm, hard. He tried to glare, but he could feel the look falling short of the mark. "Spencer, go get a coffee. I think Guster said there was a place on the corner." His tone was dismissive, allowing for no argument.

Of course, there was no accounting for Spencer's argumentative nature. Spencer grinned over at him, and Lassiter could feel his attempted glare falling all to pieces. "But…there's coffee here," Spencer told him, sounding a little sweet and all too reasonable.

"There's a place on the corner," Lassiter repeated, growling in a manner that sounded almost right. "Scram," he added for good measure.

"Whatever you say, Detective," Spencer replied with a growl of his own, winking as he used Lassiter's title. As he walked away, Lassiter could swear the younger man was strutting just a little more than usual, and damn if he didn't find that a little too…cute was a word Lassiter refused to use.

Lassiter took a moment to watch Spencer leave as surreptitiously as possible, then turned his attention to O'Hara. The look she gave him confirmed that, yes, she had seen him watching Spencer as he walked away, but, no, she wasn't going to say anything. "Well?"

She looked at him blankly.

Lassiter sighed. "You wanted to talk alone. We're alone. So…talk." He set the pen down on top of the Cosgrove file, admitting to himself that he hadn't done any actual work since he'd gone to the Records room to retrieve the file.

O'Hara frowned, clearly trying to look sympathetic. "You're letting Shawn stay with you?"

Lassiter raised an eyebrow. "Looks that way." He would give O'Hara a few more seconds for the conversation to have a point before he'd put it to a stop.

"That's sweet, really, it is." O'Hara sounded nothing if not defensive, which put Lassiter on edge.

After a moment of silence, Lassiter could tell she was waiting for him to lead her on. "But?"

She sighed, and her tone indicated that she was finally getting to what she had wanted to say. "Do you think that's really a great idea?"

_All that buildup for this?_ Lassiter could feel the confusion cross his face as she stared across the room at him. "What do you mean?"

O'Hara frowned. "You two…you don't really…get along. I'd just…I'd hate for something to happen."

Lassiter realized how little he cared for her tone, right around the same time he picked up on what she might really be saying. _Something to happen? I knew she thought I didn't like the guy, but does she really think…._ "What are you implying, O'Hara?" He tried to keep his tone calm, but there was more anger in there than he had intended.

And, of course, that anger was making O'Hara clam up. "All I'm saying is that maybe there's a better idea." Lassiter got the distinct feeling that that was _not_ all she was saying.

Lassiter considered his options, then forced himself to look down at his computer screen. "If you have one, now would be a good time to speak up," he told her dismissively, typing nonsense and random strings of letters into the form he had open on his computer, just so he could have something to do, something to look at, as he waited for her to speak, pretending not to care.

But Lassiter couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face at her silence.

* * *

><p>As Shawn walked down the street, shading his eyes from the afternoon sun, he pulled out his phone. Scrolling down to the second of the three numbers he called regularly, he sent the call and waited. On the third ring, Gus snapped from the other end, "What, Shawn?"<p>

"Dude, so snippy. You were the one who told me to call. How was work?"

"Shawn, it's been eight minutes. I'm still in the car."

Shawn could hear the car radio in the background. "Really, Gus? The Monkees? Is that where your head is right now?"

The music decreased to the point that Shawn could no longer hear it, and he grinned, picturing Gus trying to steer, talk, and turn the radio down at the same time. "Shawn, that's not the point!"

"Then what is the point, Gus?"

"Shawn…I…I don't…You called _me_, Shawn!"

"So how do you know that's not the point?" Shawn smiled openly, enjoying his ritualistic torture of his best friend a little more than usual. He was sure one day Gus would get used to him, but by then he hoped he would have found new ways to mess with him.

"What is it, Shawn?" Gus asked irritably, pulling Shawn back to the present.

Even knowing that Gus wouldn't see it, Shawn shrugged. "Just calling to check in, buddy. Thought you'd be all done at work by now. Lassie kicked me out of the station for a while, so I'm getting some coffee."

"Coffee? At the shop by the station?" Gus was entirely too interested, and just a little panicked by that information.

"…Yeah." Shawn heard the squeal of tires somewhere behind him. He turned, but he was too slow to see the car that had caused the sound. There was a small trail of smoke disappearing around the corner, but the car was gone.

On the other end of the line, Gus muttered to himself. "…company car," was all Shawn caught, but it was enough to raise his suspicions once again.

"So you're still headed to work?" he asked.

Gus was panting on the other end of the phone. "Uh…yeah. Some idiot almost ran me off the road," he said, yelling just a little too loud. "So…why did Lassiter throw you out?"

_Hmmm…lying _and_ deflecting. This has to be good._ "Oh, he and Jules were having some big secret talk that I wasn't allowed to hear."

"You want me to come pick you up after I get everything sorted out at work?" _Work. Riiiiight._

Shawn decided to let it slide for now, and focus on the conversation. "Naw, buddy, Lassie offered me a roof for the night, so I'm riding with him today."

Shawn wished Gus had been drinking something, because then the sputtering would have been less concerning and more funny. "Lassiter did what?"

"I'm bunking with Lassie til my apartment stops having a water feature."

"Shawn…do you think that's a good idea?" Shawn could see the deep, dark, disapproving look on Gus's face through the phone. _Maybe I _am_ psychic_, Shawn thought with a grin.

But Shawn also knew exactly why Gus had his Gus face on, and he rolled his eyes. "Okay, for the last time, Gus, Lassie didn't kill that guy, or any other guy. Well, he's probably killed some people, but that was work. He's never killed anyone…recreationally, and he's not going to start now."

"Shawn, I _don't_ think you should be hanging out with him outside of work. In fact, I don't think you should be hanging out with him at all. The guy…he's got problems, Shawn." He was almost touched by Gus's concern, but he knew he couldn't ditch out on Lassie now.

"Yeah, and you know what, Gus? So do I. So do you. Everybody's got problems, that's what makes the world interesting." Shawn thought for a moment about the fact that he hadn't had to think before jumping to Lassie's defense. It felt natural somehow, and that thought made him grin. But there would be time to think about that later, when he wasn't on the phone with Gus, who knew how to read his silence better than most people understood his words. "Now, on to bidness. Lassie's already vetoed a Van Damme marathon, but I think I can get him onboard if I change it to Burt Reynolds. I don't think his motel has room service, so I'll have to bring my own cocoa, and you know how I feel about that. Here is what I need from you: get me ten bags of the biggest, butteriest popcorn you can find, an economy size box of Swiss Miss, a portable microwave, and all of your DVDs. Just all of them."

After a moment's silence on the other end of the line, Shawn received the answer he had pretty much been expecting. "I'm not doing that, Shawn."

* * *

><p>Lassiter was starting to wonder if Spencer could have gotten lost. It was, generously, a five minute walk to the coffee shop. Figure in maybe a three minute wait at this time on a Saturday afternoon, round up, that gave you roughly fifteen minutes. Spencer had been gone for twenty five. Lassiter told himself that he wasn't worrying, even as he checked his watch for the third time in under two minutes.<p>

The snort from across the room told him that not only had O'Hara seen everything he'd been doing, she knew what it signified. She might as well have been reading his mind, and Lassiter didn't like it. "Do you have something to say, O'Hara?" he asked as calmly as he was able.

She was opening her mouth to say something Lassiter was certain he wasn't going to like, when the door to the station flew open. "I know, I know, that took every kind of for_ever_, but I brought you a latte, Jules," Spencer said, spinning around the corner so fast he almost dropped the cup into her lap (_would have served her right_, Lassiter thought bitterly), "and I got you your favorite." Spencer walked backwards from O'Hara's desk to Lassiter's, dropped in a nearby chair, and handed Lassiter the cup over his head. Lassiter sniffed the cup experimentally, then took a sip. "Three creams, four sugars, and I promise you, Lassieface, the cup never left my sight." Shawn made an "x" gesture over his chest, on the right side. "Cross my very favorite lung. Fun fact," Shawn said, a little louder. "The saying was originally 'cross my lung', but they had to change it when they started putting it in children's rhymes, because nothing rhymes with the word 'lung'."

Lassiter rolled his eyes, hiding his grin behind the cup. He considered trying to find the words to thank the younger man, but in the end, he settled on saying gruffly, "I should be done here in about twenty minutes. We can go then."

Spencer sat in the chair, on the other side of the desk, resting his elbows on the desk with his head in his hands, staring across at him. "Take your time, Lassie. I'm in no hurry."

Lassiter tried to focus himself on his paperwork again, but even the coffee couldn't help. Spencer was sitting less than two feet away, staring at him, watching him. Normally, Lassiter would have found this annoying, but something was different today. Lassiter couldn't concentrate. Striking a few final keys to save the files open on his computer, Lassiter shut the system down and grabbed his suit jacket.

Spencer looked down at his wrist, even though Lassiter knew he wasn't wearing a watch. "Has it been twenty minutes already?"

Lassiter smiled across the desk at Spencer and said, in a low voice to keep the comment between them, "It can wait."

"You can pick it up on Monday?" Spencer asked.

Lassiter grinned as he passed by Spencer and performed his end of day check, setting one hand on his weapon and one on his keys. "Oh, hell no. I'm on forced leave until Wednesday. Why do you think I came in on the one day the Chief isn't here?"

"Gee, Lassie, that's all kinds of…insubordinate of you." Spencer kept his own voice low as he said "I like it" right in Lassiter's ear. The rush of warm breath across his skin sent a cool shiver down his spine.

Lassiter just caught the smile on O'Hara's face as they passed by her desk, but he chose to focus on Spencer instead. "So…you were haunting Guster's boss?"

"Gus's stupid boss was going to make him quit Psych. He didn't believe in psychics, and I didn't have time for a real spirit to take interest." Spencer grinned, pushing open the station door and stepping out into the sunlight.

* * *

><p>Things seem to be going well for our favorite boys, but at what cost? Does all of this seem a little…convenient to anybody else? Find out what's really been going on next time on…Operation: Romantically Challenged!<p>

Oh, and if you were wondering, Gus, Henry, and the main switchboard at the station.


	8. Chapter 7: Regroup and Recount

A/N: I do not own the characters, but I'm fairly proud of the plot, which is mine. Steve Franks and USA own Shawn, Gus, Lassiter, O'Hara, Henry, Vick, Santa Barbara, the Psych name, and, of course, the incomparable Buzz McNabb (although, now that I think about it, I don't think Buzz has been in this story yet, which, if you've read my stuff before, you know is odd), and the state of California owns Obispo and Morro Bay (which are totally real).

Set immediately after (and a little bit during) 3x11 (like I have to tell you that it's "Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing). So, there're spoilers for that. Rated for some language and some content.

Disclaimer: I don't have an iPhone. I don't know what its buttons are, or what they do. If I am wrong, so be it. But I know they all have iPhones (product placement much?) so that's the model that had to be used. No two ways. So cut me just a hint of slack.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7: Regroup and Recount<strong>

Henry Spencer sat on his boat, drinking in the silence. And, admittedly, more than a little scotch. He hadn't quite made it as far up the coast as he had hoped to that day, but the sun was setting, the waves were orange in the evening light, and he was just too drunk to trust himself behind the wheel of anything, let alone his favorite and only fishing boat.

Henry stretched out on the bench seat and contemplated baiting a hook. Sure, the waters here weren't as prime as those he had set out for, but there would be time for netting the big haul later. This would be just for him, just to unwind and enjoy the late afternoon that was so quickly fading around him, to celebrate a day well spent. _Hell_, Henry though, _I might even throw them all back._

Just as Henry was beginning to seriously consider getting out the old rod and reel, tracking down the tackle box he was almost sure he'd brought, his phone rang. His thoughts turned to estimating how many skips he could get out of the damned thing before it sank to the ocean floor. Probably not too many. While it was fairly light, his phone was the wrong shape to skip, too many corners. That dream gone, Henry sighed and answered his phone.

"Yeah?" Eloquent, no, but whoever was disrupting his trip deserved no better. _Should have left the damned thing at home, _Henry thought_. The world can live without me for a few days._ But Henry knew exactly why he had brought his phone, and if the person on the other end of the line knew what was good for them, this would be the call Henry had expected.

"Mr. Spencer?" the voice on the other end of the line, shaky and more than a little scared, confirmed that the world was not unduly unkind, and that this was, in fact, the call Henry had been waiting on for a couple of hours now.

"Gus. How'd we do?" Though Henry's tone was calm and nonchalant, he sat up and perched on the edge of his seat, all business and anticipation.

Gus hedged. "I think we should get Juliet on this call, first. Can you set it up?"

Henry could feel his brow knit in confusion. "What do you mean, can I set it up?"

Gus sighed in a way Henry suspected was both long-suffering and slightly condescending. "Do you know how to use the three-way calling on your phone?"

_My phone does what?_ "I'm not _that_ old, Gus, I got it." Henry pulled the phone away from his ear, studying the symbols on the screen. He pushed one that looked like it might help, and suddenly all of Gus's contact information was displayed on the screen. _That's not it._ The next button brought up a map of the ocean, with a little purple dot over his current coordinates, right off Morro Bay. _Nope._

Three tries later, Henry was getting annoyed and Gus was getting impatient. Henry was still thinking about throwing his phone off the side of the boat, but somehow it was starting to seem like less and less of a bad idea. "Hang on," Gus finally said, and hung up.

Henry was just settling back into his seat, accepting the fact that he'd have to wait until he was back in Santa Barbara to find out how Operation: Romantically Challenged had gone, when his phone rang again. "What now?" Henry asked, a little louder than necessary, into the phone.

"Henry?" The voice on the other end of the line was definitely not Gus.

"Oh, Juliet." Henry sat for a moment, not sure how to continue from there. He certainly wasn't about to apologize, but he also couldn't carry on the conversation without acknowledging his outburst. "I…thought you were Gus," he finally settled on.

Another voice came back through the earpiece. "I'm Gus. Does that help?"

Henry scowled, looking down at the screen of his phone. Two numbers were listed in the Caller ID pane. _I will never understand technology._ He thought maybe he could make his peace with that. "So, how'd we do?"

Gus charged ahead, seemingly having built up a head of steam. The undercurrent of fear was still present, but he went ahead anyway. _This should be good._ "Before we tell you, we need to talk. Mr. Spencer, I know you said we couldn't be nervous about getting our hands dirty, but sabotaging the water system at Shawn's apartment was too far. You put all those people out on the streets for this, and that's…you could go to jail!" Gus shouted over Henry's laughter. "What's so damned funny about that?"

"Gus," Henry said, his tone evening out as the laughter passed, "I think that's the first time you've ever cursed at me."

"Yeah, well," Gus stammered, his steam fully used up. "You deserved it. What you did was stupid, and dangerous, and…Shawny."

"Shawny?" Henry asked, all too certain he knew what Gus had meant, but not quite sure whether to be flattered or offended. Considering the source, Henry settled on a little of both.

Gus didn't disappoint. "You know, that's totally something he would do to prove a point. And it wouldn't be okay then, either." It almost sounded like Gus was pouting.

Henry knew he'd let this go on for too long. It was time to put a stop to it. "Gus, I didn't do anything."

"You call breaking the pipes at Shawn's place not doing anything?" Gus's tone was accusatory, and oddly familiar. Henry almost grinned as he recognized the "Dammit, Shawn" tone he'd been hearing since the pair were boys.

"Okay, well, it wasn't _nothing_. But I didn't cast anybody out on the streets. I just bribed Shawn's super to make a simple, convincing phone call. Okay, and, yes, threatened him a little bit. O'Hara," Henry said, suddenly remembering the third set of ears on the conversation. O'Hara was the police, and what Henry had done was technically in a legal grey area.

Juliet was already a step ahead of him, though. "Not a word, take it to my grave, got it. But what if Shawn talks to one of his neighbors when he gets back in his building? Won't he know that we lied? I thought the whole point was for them never to find out that we were involved."

Henry shook his head, even knowing he was alone on the boat. "Shawn doesn't talk to his neighbors. He…reads them," Henry said, hoping he was using the right psychic jargon, "and then he avoids them. Hell, between Catwoman and the drug dealers, he's too scared of half of them to share an elevator." And just like that, Henry was laughing again.

There was a curious silence from the others for a moment, before Juliet continued. "Oh, Gus, I meant to ask you, is there anything I can do to help you with your boss?"

"What?" Gus sounded almost as confused as Henry felt.

Juliet sounded surprised that no one knew what she was talking about. "You know, he thinks you're a drug dealer? Because of Shawn…or…shipping or something? I'm willing to bet an endorsement from an SBPD detective would go a long way toward fixing that."

Gus was silent a moment longer, then Henry could just hear the man snapping his fingers. "Oh, that! No, no, everything's fine." Gus's tone took on a sort of nervous apology. "When I went to find Shawn earlier, he asked me where I'd been all morning, and I couldn't think of anything else. I told him there was a shipping mix up and a bunch of Ambien had gone missing, and my boss was blaming me. So when I needed to get lost for a while earlier, I used it again."

Henry could hear the confused frown in the detective's voice. "But you got so mad at Shawn."

"I'm always a little mad at Shawn." Henry grinned. He had always wondered how those two could stand each other for so long, or, more accurately, how anyone could stand twenty-some-odd years of Shawn.

"So…wait…who _were_ you talking to?"

Henry knew he could interrupt, but it was easier to let Gus do the talking while he pulled the tackle box out from the compartment of the bench he had been sitting on. He was pretty sure he'd be able to thread the reel one-handed, and then eventually they'd get on with telling him how their plan had worked out.

Henry figured they were stalling him for one of two reasons. Either the plan had fallen apart and they didn't want to tell him about it (in which case he would probably be hearing Shawn in the background of Gus's call any time now), or they had been successful, and there was just no rush. Or they had been found out, but Henry didn't like to think of that as an option.

Gus was still talking. "I called Mr. Spencer. After I found out…or…I guess after I thought I knew what he had done, I wanted to ask him about it. He just told me Shawn's place had been taken care of, and I couldn't really ask with everyone around like that."

"Okay," Juliet said, the confusion finally clearing from her voice. Apparently, Gus had explained everything. "So, where did you go earlier?"

"What?"

"When you said that your boss had called you back in. Where did you go?"

Gus was silent for a moment. When he finally continued, he spoke sheepishly, as though he were embarrassed about something. "I couldn't think of anywhere to go, so I just drove around the block for a while. Which was a total waste of gas, by the way. But then Shawn went for coffee."

"Yeah, Carlton kicked him out when I asked to talk to him."

"Well, he called me while he was walking down the street, and I almost drove right by him. Just about ruined the tires turning off at the last second," Gus groused. "Oh, and I almost hit some guy."

Juliet was quiet for a minute. "You're a better liar than I thought." Her tone was neither accusatory nor impressed, merely assessing. "Is the power even out at your building?"

"It is when Shawn asks." Henry could hear the grin in Gus's voice. A gull flew by, crying loudly over Henry's head. "Wait, Juliet, where are you?" Gus asked, clearly confused.

Henry could hear papers shuffling around in the background somewhere. "I'm still at the office. Why, where are you?"

"I'm at home." Gus paused, clearly trying to work it out for himself before he had to ask the question. Henry imagined him glancing around his apartment. "Why am I hearing birds?"

Henry smiled. He'd been quiet too long; they'd forgotten about him. "That's me. I'm fishing off the coast of Obispo."

"Is that why Shawn isn't staying with you?"

"He thinks I'm having the house fumigated. I had them throw a tent over the house in case Shawn comes by while they steam clean the furniture." Henry shuddered as he thought of Lassiter on his couch. He hadn't been able to sit on it since. He doubted the cleaning would help, but it was better than the alternative (taking it out back and lighting it on fire). After all, it was a nice couch.

"Why are you steam cleaning your furniture?" Juliet asked politely.

Henry let the silence hang for a moment. "Do you really want to know?"

"No!" Gus said immediately. "Shawn has asked me that enough times that I know the answer is 'no'."

Henry grinned. "So, did we get all the old business out of the way?"

"What?" Gus had clearly lost track of the conversation.

Henry sighed, exasperated. "How did we do?"

Juliet sighed. "I think Carlton hates me a little bit."

Gus snorted. "Shawn thinks I'm a negligent friend."

Henry could feel his teeth starting to grind. He was giving them one more chance before he threw the phone off the side of the boat. "How did the plan work out?"

Juliet's smile was contagious even over the phone. "Carlton asked Shawn to stay with him at the motel!"

Henry thought for a moment about the implications of their success. Did this make him some sort of pimp? More importantly, Henry had just set his son up with the one man in Santa Barbara who was arguably stranger than Shawn. Shawn had his troubles, but Lassiter…Lassiter was a whole psych wing in a flimsy 6'2" wrapper. What had he gotten Shawn into?

_Nothing he wouldn't have gotten himself into_, he told himself. _If anything, you saved him a little time and a few bullets_. Henry's stomach turned as he thought of what had almost happened only two days ago, right under his nose. _It's not your job to protect him anymore_, the voice in his head said, doing a fantastic impression of Shawn. _Let Lassiter take the reins. You know he'll do it right_.

Gus was still talking. Apparently, he'd asked a question Henry was expected to answer. "You're breaking up. What did you say?"

"I said how long will you be gone?"

"I'll be back on Wednesday." Henry thought for a moment, not liking the new, unsure feeling his gut was sending him. "Uh…keep an eye on Shawn, Gus. Make sure everything goes…okay." This had been _his_ idea, dammit, why was he getting second thoughts now?

It had just seemed so…unreal as they sat and discussed it around the kitchen table. But it was real now, with all the risks of any real relationship. Henry knew Shawn had been protecting himself by keeping things with Lassiter light, joking. Just like Lassiter had been keeping his distance with the threats he was always lobbing at Shawn. Really, who was he to take that away from them? _Well_, Henry thought, thinking again of Lassiter, _if he screws this up, I may just have to kill him._

Henry smiled while, on the other end of the line, Juliet giggled and Gus bitched about how Henry had better not be asking him to do what he thought he was asking him, because that was sick, wrong, illegal, and never going to happen.

* * *

><p>Stick around to find out what Shawn and Lassie have to say about all this, next time on…Operation: Romantically Challenged!<p>

It's weird to me that any Shassie story could have this many chapters without Shawn or Lassie. To be remedied next time, promise!


	9. Chapter 8: Grabbing Life

A/N: I do not own the characters, but I'm fairly proud of the plot, which is mine. Steve Franks and USA own Shawn, Gus, Lassiter, O'Hara, Henry, Vick, Santa Barbara, the Psych name, and, of course, the incomparable Buzz McNabb. I also don't own Mentos, Diet Coke, Lifetime or the Home and Garden Television network. I think those things are all owned by themselves. I know COPS belongs to Fox, and I think the Ninja Turtles currently go to the Cartoon Network.

Set immediately after (and a little bit during) 3x11 (like I have to tell you that it's "Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing). So, there're spoilers for that. Rated for some language and some content (especially in this chapter).

Hey, so, before we get started, quick apology for the lateness of the update. I was going to get this all hammered out two days ago so I could post early, but first I had to get caught up on my Mentalist, a priority of which we all know Shawn would approve, and then there was the Franklin and Bash marathon, and once you've seen that many guys in vests in one evening…well, work does not get done. Then of course, there was the Saturday night Psych marathon that I am incapable of resisting. That's how you end up with a late update. Hence the apology. Totally ruined a great streak, too.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: Grabbing Life (Among Other Things) by the Little Lassiters<strong>

Carlton Lassiter loved driving. Something about the feel of the steering wheel, having control over such a large piece of machinery, making eighty little decisions a minute, he found it all…life affirming. O'Hara liked to ask why it was he always drove, and usually he would just grunt or hedge. Once, he'd told her that it was his car, and that's just how it was. But Lassiter loved the control, something he would never admit aloud.

The only thing he loved more than driving his car was driving his car with a passenger. Most of the time. Spencer sat in the seat beside him, tapping his foot against the…. "Spencer, get your feet off the dashboard!"

Spencer huffed. "Can I at least go through the glove box? Maybe make some glove puppets?"

Lassiter had to fight to keep from squeezing his eyes shut at he led his car through an intersection. "I don't actually keep gloves in there, Spencer."

"What? And I'm just supposed to take your word for it?" Movement from the corner of Lassiter's vision coupled with the popping sound of the latch confirmed that Spencer was, in fact, digging through his glove box. "Dude," Spencer came back with moments later, "is this a Mars bar? I thought they stopped making these in, like…'86." Before Lassiter could answer, however, Spencer had found something else to capture his chipmunk-like interest. "Whoa, Lassie, insurance paperwork!"

"And that's exciting…why, exactly?" Lassiter sighed, hating himself just a little for playing into Spencer's insanity.

"Um, hello? Can you say origami?" Lassiter flinched as he heard Spencer start folding and, he cringed, crumpling his carefully organized insurance forms. "I'm gonna make you a registration seagull. No, a duck." Spencer looked over at Lassiter and raised his work for inspection, smiling expectantly. "Now, I know what you're thinking, but you just put that thought out of your pretty little head, Lassifrass; everybody makes swans."

"Just…just put it back in the glove compartment," Lassiter told him without glancing over, sighing again.

As Lassiter brought the car to a stop, Spencer leaned forward to gaze out the windshield at the motel. "Are you sure this is the place?"

"I've been staying here for days, Spencer. I'm pretty sure." He knew his tone was a bit sharper than the situation warranted, but Lassiter hated having to feel defensive about his living arrangements, especially when he had been the one to invite Spencer here in the younger man's hour of need. Above all, he wanted the Q and A phase over with as soon as possible. Somehow, Lassiter knew Spencer wouldn't approve of his motives.

But Spencer couldn't just let things be. It was for the best, Lassiter supposed. He wouldn't really be Shawn if he were capable of leaving well enough alone. "Well, it just…I've seen the kind of room you get yourself, the kind of living conditions you prefer…." Spencer was still gazing at the crumbling brickwork of the motel before them as he spoke.

_Just as well_, Lassiter thought. The detective wasn't quite ready for the "psychic" to turn his questioning gaze toward him. "Do you have a point coming up anytime soon? I'd like to know in advance so I can schedule my other obligations around it."

Lassiter just caught the flash of a grin across Spencer's face before he responded. "First of all, not bad, Carlito; we'll get you up to top notch banter any day now. Second, this place seems a little…low rent for you, Lassie." Shawn paused, turning in his seat to face the detective. Lassiter could see something he knew he wasn't going to like in the certainty on Spencer's face. "You're keeping an eye on someone, aren't you?"

Though phrased as a question, Lassiter heard only the accusation. He shifted in his seat, but his silence was apparently enough.

The happy-go-lucky façade Spencer kept so firmly in place during office hours had dropped, and he was now firmly on the offensive. "What happened to forced leave? There's no way the chief okayed this! Haven't you had your ass handed to you enough for signing off on your own stake-outs?"

"It isn't a stake-out," Lassiter said, quickly jumping to his own defense. He paused for a beat, trying not to grin. It had been a long time since someone had cared enough to ream him like that, and it was weird how much he had missed it. "At most, this is passive surveillance." He knew the distinction was thin, but it had been enough to convince himself; hopefully, it would do to convince Spencer, as well. "I'm not sitting out in my car with a pair of binoculars or anything, but if I happen to see a certain ex-con recently paroled on his assault and drug charges, then fine. Great, even. And if I happen to catch sight of any violations of said parole when and if I see such an ex-con, well…." Lassiter let the sentence hang, hoping Spencer would see his point.

He wasn't disappointed. Though skepticism still hung in the younger man's eyes, Spencer finished his thought all the same. "Then it would be your civic duty to report this…_hypothetical_ criminal to someone _not_ on leave from the department. Fun little loop-hole you found yourself, there, Lassie. If I didn't know any better, I'd say I was rubbing off on you." Shawn smiled over at the detective. "I'll make a dishonest man of you yet." And just like that, Spencer was smiling again. He clapped, rubbing his hands together vigorously. "So, where does our completely hypothetical drug dealing people puncher live? You know, just in case the spirits want to kick something my way?"

Lassiter nodded at a small, unassuming building across the street. It was a single-level duplex in almost as awful a condition as the motel before which they sat. Pieces of the walkway leading to the shared front porch were missing, weeds had long ago overgrown the yard, and the brickwork which made up the outer walls was worn and, in some places, falling apart entirely.

Spencer whistled. "Now that's a charming piece of real estate. A fixer upper if I ever saw one, perfect for couples just starting out, or any career criminal. Whether you plan on flipping it for a profit or starting a meth lab in the shed out back, this property just screams potential!" Shawn looked askance at the expression on Lassiter's face. "HGTV and COPS: a combination more deadly than Mentos and Diet Coke," Shawn informed him ominously.

"Be that as it may," Lassiter said, eyeing Spencer warily, "I already told you I'm not keeping a real watch on this guy, just an eye out when it's convenient. So unless you want the couple renting the room we're parked in front of to start talking," and here Lassiter grinned as they both looked toward the window of the room in front of them, watching the curtains swing shut as though two noses hadn't _just_ been pressed up against the glass, "I suggest we get out of my car."

* * *

><p>"It's not much," Lassiter said as he opened the door to the small room, flipping on the lights, "but it's just until my place has been cleared as a crime scene. You can stay with me there until your pipes get fixed."<p>

Shawn could see from the look in Lassie's eyes exactly how much the detective hated the thought of going back to his own home, and he wasn't nearly dense enough not to know why. Of course, he also knew the look on his own face would communicate a similar reluctance, not that either of them would give voice to their worries.

_We're guys_, Shawn told himself. _Guys don't talk about stuff; they bottle stuff up until it turns into cancer._ Shawn thought about that for a second, then wondered if talking wouldn't be the wiser course of action. But when he thought of the gun Drimmer had held to his head, he knew he wouldn't have the option. He shook the thought away, trying to think of something, literally anything, else.

Shawn looked down at the small twin beds, sitting on either side of a small table. The lamp sitting on the table cast a feeble light, giving rise to shadows on the walls around them. Somehow, it was appropriate. The bed on his left was rumpled slightly, and Shawn could just make out the barest impression of ass prints left behind by previous guests. The one on his right had been made recently, with what could only be described as military precision; clearly the bed on the right had been Lassie's for the duration of his stay.

Shawn dropped his bag on the bed to his left, then settled easily onto the right-hand bed, ruining the beautiful job Lassie had done of making it. As Shawn grabbed the remote from the side table and started flipping mindlessly through the channels the television _did_ receive, Shawn considered their situation.

Staying in the same room would certainly make things easier, Shawn reflected. No more arguing about whose place they would stay at, no late night calls to come over once all the lights had finally gone out in Lassie's neighborhood, no more waking up before dawn to make the trip back home before any of the neighbors woke up. For the next few days, Shawn would get to pretend that he and Lassie had a normal, _people_ relationship.

Shawn smiled as Lassie settled down on the bed next to him, draping an arm over his shoulders. Shawn loved the protective feel of that arm, wished he could feel like this all the time. He shook his head, refocusing on the television. He was currently on some made-for-TV movie about four girls on vacation in Mexico. Going by the Lifetime logo in the bottom corner of the screen, the girls would have some montage-y fun and yell "Mexico!" until one of them got raped. _No, thank you._ Not quite the ambiance Shawn had in mind.

Shawn surfed until he saw something with guns. He watched exactly eight seconds of last year's biggest summer action movie, tempted, before moving on. While Lassie would undoubtedly love all the guns and explosions, Shawn wasn't really feeling the whole "death screams in the background" thing for this.

Next up to bat, after skirting through the sports channels, was a laughable TV mystery movie. Less than a minute in, Shawn looked up at Lassie; Lassie looked down at Shawn. They rolled their eyes simultaneously and pronounced, "The butler did it." _Predictable, bland, and totally not on the menu today. Next._

Shawn passed by several sitcoms and cartoons, stopping next on what appeared to be an attempt at a comedy set at a ski resort. Despite the calls of "righteous!", "tubular!" and other pseudo-hipisms Shawn hadn't heard since his middle school ninja turtles phase, the film seemed to be his best bet on Saturday afternoon television.

Shawn sighed as he heard one of the characters actually yell "Kowabunga, dude!", but set the remote on the small table next to the bed all the same. As he settled back against the headboard of the somewhat questionable bed, Shawn allowed his hand to fall carelessly onto Lassie's thigh, fingers trailing lightly down to the inseam of the detective's pants. And, just like that, neither of them was paying any attention to the idiots shouting "bodacious" on the television. _Perfect._

Shawn shifted his hand lazily up and down Lassie's thigh, earning a subtle gasp from the detective sprawled beneath him. Shawn smiled his most wicked smile as his hand worked its way further up Lassie's leg, finding its way to a sizable lump. Shawn tilted his head back, aligning his lips with Lassie's ear. "Is that your sidearm, Detective, or are you just happy to see me?"

Shawn was never happier for his quick fingers than when he wanted what was on the other side of Lassie's shirt, which was, admittedly, pretty much always. One hand made short work of Lassie's buttons, while the other rid him of his belt. He was paused in his progress only for a moment as Lassie pulled his shirt off and threw it across the room.

A few seconds and some strategic wiggling later, Shawn had Lassie's pants down around his ankles, and his shirt and tie were a thing of the past. Not to be outdone, Lassie had somehow gotten Shawn's jeans onto the other bed. _You never cease to amaze_, Shawn thought, looking down on Lassie with pride.

Shawn straddled Lassie's hips, running his hand along the detective's pectorals. Shawn claimed Lassiter's mouth, tearing a moan from the tall, lithe man, and loving every second of it. He loved it when he was able to make the detective moan, make him lose just a little of his control in any given moment. Shawn loved looking into Carlton's eyes when the detective lost himself in an experience.

Shawn moved down Lassiter's neck, finally trailing open-mouthed kisses across his collarbone, stopping only to enjoy the sternum bush of which he was so very, very fond. Lassie shivered as Shawn worked his way back up his neck, finding just the right spot to stop on, half way between his shoulder and his ear. Lassie loved that spot.

While Shawn's mouth was busy, his hands were finding their way down Lassie's sides, over his strong abs, and down, down, to dip playfully below the waistband of the detective's boxers. Lassiter growled, the vibrations carrying up into Shawn's chest, as the younger man pulled his hands away. "Well," Shawn mumbled into Lassie's shoulder, "if you insist."

* * *

><p>Carlton Lassiter lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He was floating in the beautiful, blissful haze that was becoming more and more familiar the more time he spent with Spencer. He loved this feeling, this warm, happy feeling that Spencer always left him with. Lassiter wasn't entirely sure where he was, what time it was, or what he was supposed to be doing, but he knew he was happy, another feeling of growing frequency lately.<p>

Over the sound of the television, Carlton heard a door creak open, and for a moment, he almost considered lifting his head to look around. Almost. After a few moments, during which he could barely make out footsteps growing ever-closer, Spencer's face filled his vision. Carlton grinned up at him until he realized Shawn was wearing his robe.

"Hey, Lassie," Shawn purred as the mattress dipped and the disgusting motel bedspread shifted. Lassiter moaned slightly as a warm presence joined him on the bed, and he curled instinctively around it. They stayed that way for a time; the only motion that of Spencer taking off the robe he had stolen from the bathroom. Just as Lassiter was beginning to settle back into the barely conscious haze, Shawn's breath ghosted across his face. "I have a present for you."

Finally giving up on the idea of actually drifting off to sleep with Spencer in the room, Carlton pushed himself up against the bedpost, dragging Shawn up with him. He groaned as the light from the window hit his eyes, lifting a hand to shield himself.

"Look what I have," Shawn sang loudly, right in Carlton's ear. "Look, look, look!"

Shawn was waving his phone in front of Carlton's eyes. The detective had to put a hand up to steady the phone, looking at the image displayed. As his eyes adjusted to the bright light cast by the phone's display, Lassiter felt a grin spread across his face.

Carlton could hear the smile in the younger man's voice as he spoke. "That, my dear, dear detective, is a gun toting drug dealing people puncher. And this, right here, sticking out of his waistband, is one great, big parole violation."

"Did you—?" Carlton asked, stopped by a yawn.

"Sent it to Buzz's phone three minutes ago. Traceable back to me, not you, and that guy is going back to the place where the bad guys go. I think I can hear the sirens now," Shawn said, cupping a hand around one ear. "It's a beautiful sound, Lassie."

But Carlton was too distracted by the beautiful sight in front of him, Shawn Spencer bare to the waist and beaming with pride, to notice. Life was good.

* * *

><p>Awww…Lassie and Shawn. I can never get enough of those two.<p>

A bit more to come, but we're winding it on down. See you back here for the rest next time.


	10. Epilogue: Tale as Old as Time

A/N: At this point, you should probably already know that I do not own the characters, but I'm fairly proud of the plot, which is mine. Steve Franks and USA own Shawn, Gus, Lassiter, O'Hara, Henry, Vick, Santa Barbara, the Psych name, and, of course, the incomparable Buzz McNabb. All references to Beauty annd the Beast and its plot and/or characters belong to...I'm pretty sure Disney. Yeah, that sounds right.

Set immediately after (and a little bit during) 3x11 (like I have to tell you that it's "Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing). So, there're spoilers for that. Rated for some language and some content.

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue: Tale as Old as Time<strong>

Lassie lay on the bed under Shawn, and in the dark of the night which had so long ago set upon them, the only sound was their synchronized breathing. But Shawn knew better than to think that the detective was resting easy. After several silent minutes, Lassie proved him right.

"What if we just stayed here?" The question was sudden, but hardly unexpected.

All the same, Shawn played along. "What do you mean, Lassiepants?"

Shawn felt more than heard the small chuckle reverberating through Lassie's chest. Here, alone, in the darkness, he never scowled at the nickname. "I mean, until your apartment dries out. We don't have to tell anyone, but we could just stay here, you and me. It would be just us, our own little place for a while. I know you don't…I mean, my house…."

Shawn smiled, knowing Lassie couldn't see him. _Maybe guys don't talk about things_, Shawn thought, _but I guess boyfriends do_. He had never thought of Lassie in that light, never tried to label what they had, but it felt right to do it now. "It's not that I don't like your place; it's really nice, and talk about spacious, but…after what happened…." He shuddered, thinking of Drimmer, of the gun, of what had almost happened to them both. Shawn wanted more than anything to put into words what bothered him, but he couldn't make himself say it out loud. It was like saying it would put them back there, take away the happy ending they had found.

But Lassie didn't need words. "I know. I…trust me, I know."

Shawn heard something in his hesitation, something that gave him a strange sort of hope. "Maybe…after my place dries out…maybe we could both stay there. At least until your place stops scaring the hell out of the both of us. You could bring over some suits and stuff and just…make yourself at home."

"And then?" Lassie asked, and Shawn could hear the smile in his voice.

"Well, after your place is done being a crime scene, and it's done reminding us of…." And again, Shawn couldn't bring himself to say aloud all the things that sprang to mind when he thought of Lassie's living room. "I was thinking maybe we could both just live there."

There was a moment of silence, and Shawn panicked. _It's too much; it's too soon; he's going to say no. Crap, why did I even say anything?_ Shawn had known from the moment he had first met the detective that Lassie was…a little broken, a little different, a little hurt. Shawn had known, the very first time he showed up on Lassie's doorstep, that this wouldn't be a normal relationship, and not just because they worked together, or because they were men, or even because Lassie was paranoid and a little crazy. Lassie's heart was still in the process of fitting itself back together, and Shawn had always known he would have trouble letting him in.

Shawn hadn't thought too much about it when Lassie had insisted that they only see one another when everyone else in practically the whole city was already asleep. Shawn had let it slide when Lassie kept him at an arm's length while the sun was up, whether or not they were at work. Shawn had tried not to complain too much when Lassie had told him that even though they had been seeing each other for months, he still couldn't tell Gus. He had accepted all of this, knowing that Lassie needed time to put himself back together before he accepted that what they had was real, was special, was love.

But now Shawn had blown it, and not in the happy fun way. He could see in his head what would happen next. Lassie would shift away from him, curling in on his own side of the bed. In the morning, he would start to ask if Shawn really thought staying together was a good idea. He'd get Shawn all set up in his own room, then conveniently find an excuse to switch motels, leaving Shawn behind. By Monday, their relationship would be back to booty call status, or worse. Shawn could have kicked himself, and likely would the second Lassie left the room.

"I think I'd like that," Lassie said, the grin still evident in the sound of his voice pulling Shawn back into the moment. Carlton shifted beneath Shawn then, leaning down, and for a moment, there was only the kiss. It was sweet and soft and slow, and it was the whole world.

Shawn could feel the butterflies in his stomach settling down for the night as the realization settled over him: _he said yes_. This wasn't something that could be blamed on the adrenaline or the hormones. This was real; Lassie wanted him, and soon they would be living together. Shawn deepened the kiss, relishing the moan he tore from the man beneath him.

Shawn knew Lassie wasn't much on words or big shows of affection, but Shawn could hear the message beneath what Lassie was saying. He had long ago become a master of reading between the lines, so when Lassie said "I think I'd like that", Shawn heard "I love you". It would be a long time before Lassie was ready to say it for real, but showing it was all that mattered to Shawn.

As they separated, slowly, Shawn leaned back into the bed. He couldn't think of a better way to drift off to sleep than with Lassie beside him and big, bright future out in front. His eyes slowly closed as the sounds of breathing once more filled the air. But even as he tried to shut his mind off for the night, it was fitting together the last pieces of the puzzle he'd been trying to solve all day. His eyes snapped open just as everything started to fit together. "It's a setup!" Shawn shouted in triumph.

He regretted his words immediately as every muscle in the body beside him tensed. "What?" Lassie asked, awake and alert at once. Shawn could feel his muscles bunch and release as he groped blindly for the gun left on the end table.

"No, no, Lassie," Shawn soothed until the detective settled back into place beneath him. "Gus, Jules…I think even my dad. Oh, ew," Shawn said as he pictured the three of them setting this up. "It's Beauty and the Beast. My dad's a loose candlestick and Gus is a gay clock!"

Lassie had begun to relax again, and when he spoke, his voice was heavy with sleep. "Does that make O'Hara Angela Lansbury?"

Shawn grinned despite his growing horror and leaned his head back to kiss Carlton on the curve of his jaw. "You are so sexy right now," he told the detective. "But my point is, I think they know."

The voice that responded was not as angry, as panicked, as indignant as Shawn had been expecting. And the words threw him for a loop. "You know what?" Lassie asked, shifting on the bed and throwing an arm around Shawn's bare waist. "I'm not sure I care."

Knowing what could happen if people found out, what it could mean for them both, professionally and personally, Shawn smiled. _Lassie doesn't care if people find out. I mean more to him than the job_, Shawn realized.

Shawn turned in Lassie's grasp, laying himself on top of the taller man. He settled one of his legs between both of Lassie's, and maneuvered an arm around Lassie's waist. Finally, pleased with his positioning, Shawn laid his head on Lassie's chest, allowing himself to fall asleep to the _thud thud thud_ of Lassie's big, beautiful heart.

* * *

><p>And that, as they say, is that.<p>

Yes, I really wanted to get to write the line 'My dad is a gay clock', but I'm really (and, I think, legitimately) afraid of getting a faceful of Corbin Berenson's fist crashing through my computer screen. Plus his record with the ladies, coupled with Gus's fuddy-duddiness, made it better this way.

Great, warm, deep thanks go out to Elske, whyamisoclever, aki, torchil, Margaret-Malfoy, LiveFreeDieWell, jay, BraidedTissues, LittleCatZ, Puppetshow, NekodraK., Won'tGetFooledAgain, GiGiLiz, and MoonWiccan6 for keeping up with me and keeping me going. Kind words keep a writer motivated, kind hearts keep him inspired.

I feel like inspirated would have worked better, but I don't think that's a word.

As always, keep an eye out for more. You never know what I have up my sleeve.


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